


Fortune and Love Favor the Brave

by IrishWitch58



Series: Fortune and Love [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cats, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Presumed Dead, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Bond is presumed dead in an explosion. Q makes some inappropriate choices. Q also has an old enemy. Eve and Alec are an amazing support system. Honestly, summaries are harder than the story.





	1. Chapter 1

And ever has it been known that love knows not it's own depth until the hour of separation. Khalil Gibran

 

Chapter 1

Whatever else it was, MI6 was an office, full of human beings and subject to the same level of ambient noise as a bank or an advertising firm. Conversations at the water cooler, coffee stations and the cafeteria might be about anything from the latest sports scores to the film someone saw and liked, to who had a new boyfriend. Plans for birthdays and housewarmings were discussed as were government shake ups that might impact the next anticipated pay rise. All very normal. All very average.

What was less normal was the way the ambient noise dropped when the real business of MI6 was in the forefront. When the lives of its field agents were at risk, the quiet shrouded the hallways as an almost palpable presence and nowhere more so than in Q division. The Quartermaster’s subordinates were no different than any other employees when dealing with the routines of their workday. They gossiped and exchanged odd bits of news and shared the sort of humor common in tech environments. But when their superior stood at his central station and focused on the screens, speaking only to the agent in the field or to give terse directions, none of them dared to speak above a whisper and only as necessary. Their eyes were on their maestro, conducting the action and demanding accurate responses and none were willing to risk his displeasure. The missions for the 00 agents were always the most nerve shattering. Q always supervised these as closely as possible and took it personally if something went wrong. And it was going spectacularly wrong today.

Q’s jaw clenched, his lips thinned as he glared at the data. It was bad enough politicians had mistresses, but this prize imbecile had taken up with a 20 year old university student with a perky attitude and perkier tits. The stupid arse was married with kids that age. Disgusting, but not MI6 business. What was their business was that the twit was on two military and intelligence committees, both of which were garnering too much interest in certain quarters. There had been a fair amount of intelligence chatter and rising threat levels and that meant minders, whom this prize git had decided to give the slip to, screeching away in a trendy convertible with the mistress beside him. Before the bodyguards could catch up, the car had been smashed by an unmarked panel van. The MP had been hauled away in another anonymous vehicle, the mistress was in A and E with fractures and a concussion, and MI6 was supposed to fix this utter fucking mess. 

Q was tracking 007 and two lower level agents as he directed them using data from traffic cams, ATMs and other CCTV sources. It was a testament to the threat level that a 00 was involved at all. He had been the only one in London at the time this fiasco had started and the matter was deemed serious enough to warrant his expertise. Q had tracked the van to a run down area with ancient warehouses. The two junior operatives were directed to hang back but the overeager idiots had rushed the rear door of the building and triggered a full on firefight. He pointed them to cover but not soon enough. Both were hit, one likely a serious wound. There was a brief exchange over the audio connection and 007 moved smoothly in behind the gunfight. He, at least, followed directions nowadays. Most of the time, anyway. 

Q squinted at the images from the bodycam Bond was wearing. He sharpened the resolution and let out a pained gasp. One of the heavy central timbers had an irregular mass attached, wrapped with electrical tape. The shape suggested only one thing, explosives. There was a sudden flurry as the kidnappers realized there was a very different opponent facing them. They scrambled for cover but were no match for a marksman like 007. Bond’s fire dropped all of the gunmen but left one holding up a small black box with a green light on it. Q uttered a barely audible, “No,” before the video erupted into white light which faded to static. His division stared at him and he stared blankly at the screens. Monitors around the room picked up the wail of emergency vehicles approaching the site but the earpiece that was the lifeline to a 00 agent was deathly silent.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ten hours later Q was still sifting through feed, adjusting views, trying to bend the data to show him anything new. He had been at his station for 36 hours before the explosion, tracking the kidnapped MP. He was now swaying slightly on his feet as he pushed his brain to give him one more idea. 

He became gradually aware of a figure in front of his station. “Q, it's time you went home,” M intoned. Q glanced up, eyes red rimmed and mildly unfocused behind his glasses. “I mean it. Go home and take at least two days off. Your subordinates can handle the after action reports.” Q began to formulate a protest but was forestalled with a raised hand. “No arguments. You are ordered to go home.” M was determined but he was speaking as kindly as was possible. “You’ve done as much as anyone could possibly expect. Get some sleep.”

Q bowed to the inevitable. He stepped away from his screens and addressed the room. “R is in charge. Forward your individual reports to them and copy to my inbox. When that’s done, those who should be off shift are to go home. You have all done exemplary work under difficult circumstances. Thank you.”

Q headed for his office, shrugging off further conversation with M and grabbing his coat and personal electronics. One of the newer staff hurried up. “Sir. I could drive you home. You seem quite tired.” The fresh face looked at him hopefully but he waved off the suggestion. 

“I’ll manage,” and then hesitated a moment, “Carstairs,” he finished, recalling the fellow’s name. 

Q was surrounded in silence until he left the building, the street noise flooding his senses and startling him. It was daylight, probably late afternoon by the sun's angle. He had the guard at the entrance call a car for him and leaned numbly against the glass as the driver navigated the twists and turns to his flat. The window was cool against his cheek and he let his mind spin. Two agents were dead with their bodies recovered close to the entrance they had breached. One of the kidnappers had been recovered alive but was unconscious and not likely to survive. The warehouse had collapsed and partially burned. Rescue workers hadn’t been able to get to the central portion of the wreckage but the MP was also presumed deceased. Q veered sharply away from the thought but he brutally dragged his mind back to it. He had to face it. Bond was also dead. He had to be. He was too close to the blast. Arguably the service’s best agent and he was dead because his Quartermaster hadn’t been sharp enough to divine that the kidnappers had to have a backup plan. Aware they couldn’t get away with whatever their original scheme had been, they would kill themselves and the hostage thinking his loss would be a blow to whatever programs he was involved in. That was not the case. His replacement could be readily briefed and slot into his place. The other loss was far more personal to Q. He had few connections in his life and he had tried desperately to deny the increasing draw James Bond had for him. Unreturned affection was an old experience for him. He had no difficulty burying an attraction that would never be reciprocated. He had done it before, although never had it been so difficult. He had castigated himself for listening in on a recent mission and imagining himself in the place of the anonymous woman Bond had wined, dined and bedded in pursuit of information. He and the agent had more of a connection than that, a mental and emotional link framed by late night comm conversations and odd quips and sarcastic remarks. Bond had come to respect what his Quartermaster was capable of and Q had no wish to ruin that. His glass had been half full and he had contented himself with that. Except now the glass was shattered and nothing was left. 

He discovered he was at his door and exited the car, mechanically following the routine to enter the flat, disarm the alarms and relock the door. Routine had him checking on the cats and topping up their food and water. He then poured two fingers of scotch in a mug, unable to lay hands on an appropriate glass. He eyed the fluid level and topped it up. Fuck moderation. He’d just all but killed a man he was in love with. The guilt ate at him, a physical pain. He took a hefty swallow of the alcohol as he sank into the sofa. He studied the carpet pattern. Would he have felt better or worse if he had told Bond the truth? Stupid question. He consumed the contents of the cup, dismayed when he was still aware and hurting some minutes later. He stumbled slightly as he padded back to the kitchen, this time returning with the bottle. He set it on the floor after he had refilled the mug and sat back pulling his feet up. He drank more and more, barely tasting it. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t fix any of this. His mind turned the day over and over until the scotch did it’s work and he slipped into sleep, his arm dropping to the side allowing the mug to settle on the floor, the last trickle of amber fluid staining the carpet.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The halls echoed emptily with his footfalls. The man in the tattered dust covered suit moved with purpose and precision, people clearing out of his path. He entered the suite of offices reserved for the head of MI6, the young man at the reception desk reaching for the concealed weapon before recognizing the figure. “He’s been expecting you, 007.” The door buzzed open. 

M was seated behind his desk. The current occupant of the position was noted for being calm and controlled. Now he visibly startled, almost rising from his chair. “007, I had rather thought you might go to medical first.” He surveyed the spattering of blood and the singed and shredded areas of the obviously expensive and equally obviously ruined suit the man was wearing. M gestured to the chair opposite his. “Please have a seat.”

Bond eased himself into the cushions and winced. He reached around to his back, under the tattered jacket and retrieved a large splinter which he toyed with absently. “I suppose you heard the MP is alive and spitting mad?”

M nodded. “I heard he was still in the vehicle that the kidnappers dragged him off in. He made a great deal of noise about emergency services tending to the kidnapper and yourself before releasing him from the van. It was pointed out that the position he was in had, in fact, protected him from serious injury. He is also protesting his debriefing and loss of security clearances. The PM apparently intends to have a serious word with him. He’ll likely be removed from his committees. Should have been done sooner to my mind.” M sat back and studied the battered man before him. “I do think medical may wish to see you.”

Bond shook his head. “Bruises and splinters. The imbeciles bought discount explosives and had no clue how to wrap them properly. The bomb squad on scene said more than half the stuff was an inert material like modelling clay. The beam came down all right, rotten half through from age, but the blast dispersed too much. I ended up under the van and the roof collapse trapped me there until the rescue got to me.” Bond tapped the right side of his head. “This ear's ringing a bit. The other one’s fine though. Have to tell Q that the noise cancelling on the new ear piece is pretty good protection.”

“You’ll have to wait to tell him. I sent him home two hours ago.”

“You sent him home?” Bond’s voice rose a little. “I’m surprised he didn’t bite. Stubborn bugger doesn’t leave until all the… wait,” Bond studied M very minutely. “What was the mission status when you sent him home?”

“Ten hours had passed since the explosion, 007. The poor man was exhausted.” 

Bond did the math in his head. “He thinks I’m dead. You sent him home two hours ago and rescue only got to me about then.” Bond restrained an angry outburst with some difficulty. “Q takes personal responsibility for every agent in his charge. It’s what makes him so good at his job. He cares about what happens to people. And you sent him home before he could be sure of the entire outcome.” His jaw clenched and he forced his hands to release the fists they had unconsciously formed. “Did you at least call him?”

“We can’t reach him, and before you begin to rage at me, we did try. R called his mobile and messaged his laptop. Both are off. Tracking says he entered his flat after being driven there by one of our cars and he hasn’t left. No doubt he’s sleeping which is what I ordered him to do. The man looked like a bloody ghost.”

Bond had no patience for this. “Did anybody think to send a message round personally to let him know he has two less deaths on his conscience? You know that’s how he’d take it.”

M had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “We’ve been a bit occupied as you might guess. I’ve had no one to spare. Perhaps as his flat’s on your way, you might tell him yourself.”

Bond was already on his feet. “I will do just that.” He paused with his hand on the door handle. “And Sir, I already entered my preliminary AAR. You’ll get the final one in a day or so. I’m sure you want me to have some time to recover as well.”

The message was pointed and clear. Bond never took time if he wasn’t ordered to. This was his way of telling his superior that he regarded his handling of the matter to be inadequate. M privately thought he might be correct. He hadn’t thought about what Q might want or really need. Leaving him to his own devices, believing an agent in his charge was dead was a very poor way to treat one of the most valuable minds MI6 had ever had the good fortune to employ. It seemed as if Q and Bond had an odd sort of rapport. One might never have thought the hardened field agent would be so concerned with the rather odd genius of Q division but M had observed that Bond spent a lot of his down time in the labs, offhandedly describing it as guinea pig work as Q often had him test new devices at the range. Well, perhaps this would be best. He returned his attention to his paperwork and composing an update message to the PM.

Bond wasn’t taking a cab, even assuming the driver would pick him up looking like this. Yet another suit lost to the job. He accepted the gate guard’s offer and had a department driver pull up shortly. All the drivers were security cleared for home addresses for everyone except M who had a personal chauffeur. The young woman glanced at him only briefly before nodding acknowledgment of the destination and pulling into traffic. She was silent and efficient and Bond appreciated both.

The flat looked quiet, curtains pulled across all the front windows except one that had an irregular gap occupied by a large grey cat. It squinted in the last rays of sunlight and flicked it’s tail lazily. Bond had no luck with the buzzer or repeated knocking. The door was secure and he had a feeling he could open the mechanical lock but was less sure of whatever electronic guards were in place. He patted his pockets and pulled out his mobile. The screen was cracked but it powered up readily and the call eventually was put through to R. “I’m at Q’s flat and he isn’t answering. I wonder if you might remote me in.” There was a definite hesitation on the other end. “Don’t bloody ask me for authorization. You are as concerned as I am so just open the door.” 

There was a series of soft beeps and a click and Bond reached for the door. “007? If he’s livid, do try to leave my name out of it as long as possible so I can head for someplace safer.” R sounded only half joking. Q was quite adamant about his privacy.

“I’ll take the blame. Thanks.” Bond disconnected as he nudged the door open. He closed it quietly and reengaged the locks. The flat was hushed in the waning afternoon. The grey cat on the sill turned and blinked at him but seemed to judge him as a lesser variety of mortal and went back to its survey of the street. He found the second cat, a tiny particolored thing, sleeping on a chair in the lounge. Q was on the sofa. Bond crouched next to him. He was lying with one arm dangling to the carpet, a coffee mug on it’s side nearby and a decimated bottle of scotch next to the coffee table. The scent of the alcohol was intense and Bond wondered worriedly if he might need to involve medical. Drunk was something he was quite familiar with but alcohol poisoning was another matter entirely.

“Q, wake up,” he began with a touch to a bony shoulder. He tried again, adding a shake and using a louder voice. One eye opened slowly, glaring bloodshot and unhappy. “Q, you need to sit up. Come on.” He made an attempt to ease him upward but the figure on the sofa just drew in like a hedgehog, curling up and hiding his face, knocking his glasses askew in the process. Bond rescued the glasses and placed them on the table. He became aware Q was muttering something. He leaned closer and spoke quietly. “Q, you need to wake up a little. You’ve had way too much to drink.”

The mumbling became clearer. “Not enough. And I bloody well don’t believe in ghosts.” A pale and tear streaked face turned up to meet Bond’s gaze. “Maybe you’re an hallucination?” He buried his face against his knees again. “That’s it. Hallucination.”

“Are you sure you’re not just dreaming?” Bond asked, smiling in spite of himself. This drunken version of Q was endearing, despite the tears and runny nose. 

There was silence for a bit and Bond thought the man might have drifted off again. “Not a dream. When I dream you, you just fuck me and leave.” 

Bond sat back on his heels and listened to Q’s congested and hitching breaths. That was a bit of a revelation. He’d had the idea that Q was interested at times but Bond wasn’t about to make a mess of a work relationship to try it on. Despite his womanizing reputation, he had always liked men just as well. It was the luck of the draw that his field targets involved seducing women 99% of the time. Something to think about if Q was interested in him. But he could consider all that later. A guess at the amount of scotch consumed led to a decision. Q needed to get rid of whatever was still in his stomach, get some fluids and paracetamol in him, and get to sleep in an actual bed. And he couldn’t be safely left alone like this. Bond unraveled the contorted puzzle Q had twisted himself into and pulled one limp arm around his shoulders. “Come along, Quartermaster. Let me help you.” There was a scotch scented hiccup but Q remained essentially dead weight. Bond changed tactics and leaned into the man’s middle going for a fireman’s carry. 

There was a token resistance. “Where’re we going?” asked the quiet plaintive voice.

“Bathroom,” Bond replied succinctly. “You need to get rid of what you drank, if possible.”

There was a muffled gurgle. “Sorry, Need to…” There was a sudden spastic movement against his shoulder and Bond felt a flood of unmistakable heat cascade down his back. The smell was horrific. He sighed and continued walking. The vomiting continued sporadically as he strode down the hall, finding the bathroom door ajar. He deposited Q on the floor near the commode and removed his much abused jacket. The retching continued for a fair bit until Bond was certain everything that could be gotten rid of was gone. He hoisted Q up to sit on the now closed lid of the toilet and began to wrestle with his utterly fouled clothes. He left everything on the floor and filled the basin with warm water and sponged the majority of the mess off. Q looked at him blearily and frowned. “You’re still here?” 

“Yes, I am.” He handed the befuddled man a glass with mouthwash. “Rinse. You’ll thank me later.” When Q had done as ordered, Bond hoisted him up and half carried him down the hall to the next door. He’d guessed correctly. The bedroom was dim and cool, the bed neat and comfortable looking. He managed to yank the covers down and deposited Q in the middle. He pulled the blankets up again, coaxing the man to lie on his left side. He scanned about the room and placed the small wastebasket near the bed. He sat a moment, pushing tangled hair back off the pale and blotchy face and listened to his breathing. The pattern was regular and seemed easy. It appeared he was just sleeping and so long as he stayed on his side, he wasn't likely to choke. Satisfied, Bond retreated to the bathroom. He gathered up Q’s clothes and placed them in the otherwise empty hamper. A quick search turned up more towels and an oversized dressing gown on the back of the door. It smelled faintly of Q. Perhaps his soap or shampoo. Bond checked the bedroom again. Q was out like a light and still on his side. He left the door ajar so the hall light illuminated the room slightly and went back to the kitchen. He found some bin bags under the counter and stripped off the remainder of his clothes in the bathroom, bagging up everything including the jacket. He luxuriated under the shower for a while, finding and extracting only a few more splinters. He contemplated the issue of clothes for a moment or two as he dried and donned the robe. He checked Q again, this time leaving water and two paracetamol on the bedside table. 

His much abused mobile connected him with the best person to deal with his current crisis. “Moneypenny, I need a favor.”

“Seriously, James, your timing is awful. I was just leaving. I’ve been run ragged today. M has had me everywhere and handling enough that I wished I was twins. No, I do not want to help treat your injuries if you hadn’t the sense to see Medical when you came in.” Eve’s voice had the clear tone of ’never again’ about it.

“I am serious, Moneypenny. I am at Q’s flat and I need you to bring me some things, I don't think I should be leaving him alone.” He kept his voice level and serious and waited to see if she would just disconnect. 

It seemed she was aware of the way the Quartermaster had been sent home. For a security agency, the gossip tree in MI6 was a very healthy one. “How is he?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.

“I’m looking after him but I neglected to bring a change of clothes. I wonder if you might get my duffle and the suit bag out of my gym locker and bring those and some groceries.” He thought a moment. “Ring R when you get here so she can let you in.” He realized he still had no clue about the alarm setup.

“What’s your locker combination?” Eve asked, having apparently decided to get on board with the idea.

“You don’t need one. I never lock it.” Bond replied absently. “Makes no sense when everyone using the locker room is a spy who can open locks easily.”

“That has an odd sort of logic to it. Give me 40 minutes or so.” Eve rang off and Bond began to do some necessary clean up. His shoes were left by the door after being wiped down. After a few moment’s consideration, he stowed his weapon and holster out of sight on top of one of the lounge shelves. The suit went, regretfully, into the bin. In searching for the coffee maker, he discovered a small washer tucked in the corner of the kitchen. Q’s clothes went in there on whatever the middle setting was. He applied some soda water to the stains on the runner and the lounge carpet and it seemed to work reasonably well. He did a brief scrub of the bathroom and decided the place smelled significantly better. The coffee was done as well and he was about to pour himself a much deserved cup, when his mobile rang. 

R was on the line. “I’m letting Moneypenny in and you are both going to pay for my passage to Antarctica if Q throws a fit.” There was a series of beeps and clicks and Eve pushed the door open, duffle over one shoulder, suit bag on the other, and a collection of grocery sacks in her hands. Bond thanked R and rang off to help with the bags. 

“How is he?” Eve asked immediately.

“Still sleeping. I keep checking him. I’ll pour water and paracetamol down him when I’m sure it will stay down. He seems to have consumed the better part of a bottle of scotch and passed out. Waste of good alcohol since a lot of it ended up in the toilet.”

“He was sick?” Eve asked, helping herself to the coffee. “That’s actually a good thing, isn’t it?”

“In some sense yes. Not so much in the sense he managed to anoint the remnants of what used to be a very nice suit,” Bond replied in the driest of tones.

Eve stared. “Q threw up on you?”

“He did, and on the carpet, the runner and on himself. It was quite a remarkable mess.” Bond sipped his own coffee with some satisfaction then began stowing the groceries. “The suit was already in tatters and I came in one of the company rides so I didn’t have the bag I keep in the boot of my car. Hence, your rescue mission.” He grabbed the duffle and headed for the bathroom. He took a quick side trip with Eve following and peeking over his shoulder at the sleeping man curled up in the bed.

“Are you quite sure he’s all right? He really has no tolerance for alcohol.”

Bond answered through the bathroom door as he donned clean briefs and a tracksuit from his bag. “He cleared a lot out when he vomited and he was awake briefly.” He exited the room and Eve followed him back to the kitchen. 

“Did he say anything? Does he realize you’re ok? That’s what triggered all of this, He wouldn’t leave off looking for you after the explosion until M forced him out.”

“What he is aware of is debatable. He saw me and decided I was an hallucination.” Bond poured more coffee and offered Eve another cup. They settled on chairs in the small lounge, Eve shifting a cat to the back of the sofa. 

“Why that?” she asked and Bond hesitated. “Details, 007. Why specifically that? What else did he say?” She sounded stressed and a bit angry, as if it was his damned fault this had happened instead of the result of a middle aged moron not being able to keep his dick in his trousers.

“He said a few odd things. He said I wasn’t a ghost as he didn’t believe in them.” 

“Well he wouldn’t. That sounds exactly like him.” Eve eyed him narrowly. “What else?”

“He also seemed sure he wasn’t dreaming. And I’m not sure I should even be discussing this with you.”

“You called me, remember. And we are both here for him. So what did he say?”

Bond pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “He said I couldn’t be a dream because in his dreams I always left.”

Eve nodded. “Yes, his rather limited fantasy dreams. Surprised he said so. Took serious interrogation skills and a pitcher of margaritas for me to get it out of him.”

“Beg your pardon?” Bond’s voice rose and he sat forward. “You knew about this?” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re a damned spy. You speak multiple languages and are an expert in surveillance. How can you not have seen the way he looks at you? I’m hardly surprised he did this. He adores you, dreams about you, never said anything, and now thinks he let you die.”

“Q’s in love with me?” Bond sounded completely at a loss.

“Utterly besotted. He looks at you all the time. For a person whose job depends on observational skills, yours are remarkably poor if you haven’t caught him at it. He’s not at all subtle. He won’t let any of the minions on the comm for your missions. He’s kept every joke souvenir you ever sent him. And when I asked him about it, well…”

“Eve, what did he say?” Bond suddenly found it very urgent indeed.

She shifted uncomfortably, obviously weighing what she knew against what she had already said and how upset Q might be. “You promise me you will not hurt him. I swear, I will shoot you again if you break his heart any worse than it already is.”

“I let the man vomit on me, Moneypenny. I think we can assume I have his best interests at heart.”

“Don’t make a joke of this, 007. I will end you and if I fail, there are enough minions to finish the job. They may not have your skills but there are more of them and they are sneaky bastards and utterly devoted to Q.” She went to refill her coffee and returned to the lounge. “About two months ago you were on the way back from that cock up in South America. He talked you through the entire thing and then you hooked up with that air hostess and missed your connection home. He left R in charge and went to his office. I saw his face. He was so hurt. He had been so happy when he had gotten you a fast connection home and then you did that. I took him out and got him a bit tipsy. Margaritas are a wonderful thing, except all of mine after the first had no tequila. He told me how he tried so hard not to but he realized he had fallen into more than a crush or an infatuation. And he had no intention of you knowing. He told me he had no luck with partners anyway. He said he couldn’t very well expect you to suddenly decide you weren’t straight and begin to consider him a possible interest when he couldn't hold the interest of a gay man. As much confidence as he has in his technical abilities, he has none in his personal life. His last two affairs ended badly.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Let me guess, he told you he dreams of you fucking him once and then walking away.” Bond winced and nodded. “He told me he avoids you after he has one of those dreams. Not because he’s mad at you. Because he feels guilty because he gets off on fantasizing about you. Says it’s the only way he’s been able to come in months. You see why this is a problem?”

Bond leaned back in his chair and turned his head to face the hall to the bedroom. “He takes care of everyone but himself. I told M that he should have taken that into account.” He tapped a finger against the chair arm. “Go on home, Moneypenny. I’ll sort this out.”

She shook her head. “Men! Q is not a problem to be solved, to be ‘sorted out’. He’s a human being. And you’d best remember everything I told you.” She rose and took out her mobile, checking a message. She unlocked the door and tapped something into the keypad, checking the numbers against the mobile. “Call me if he needs anything else.” She shut the door behind her and there was a soft beep as the security rearmed itself. Bond was very aware of the phrasing Eve had used. He was to call if Q needed anything else and be damned to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Bond was rarely at a loss. He was a problem solver, albeit a somewhat direct one. Slicing through the knot was easier than untangling it. But that wasn’t the best approach here. Moneypenny was a bad shot but her people skills were very accurate. And she and Q were close. He had no doubt that her assessment was accurate. 

He wandered back to the bedroom. Q was shifting restlessly, one arm flung over his head and an ankle dangling off the mattress. Bond gently nudged the ankle back and sat on the edge of the bed. “Q, are you awake?” There was a faint mutter and the arm moved down over the face. “Come on, wake up and take these.” Bond hooked his arm around thin shoulders and hauled Q up to a nominally sitting position. “Open your eyes,” he said in a coaxing tone. One green eye opened and then quickly closed. “Take something for the headache and drink some water.” This was greeted with a suspicious frown but both eyes opened. “It’s just paracetamol,” Bond assured him. Q managed to get the pills down and spilled only a little water. He pushed, both hands on Bond’s chest, and curled back into his hedgehog impersonation, made more realistic by the way his hair stood up in tufts. Bond tugged the blankets up and headed back to the kitchen. 

He constructed a plate of sandwiches and grabbed some bottled water and returned to the bedroom. He settled in the chair, pulling it around so he could see the bed. He had barely made it through one sandwich when the cats appeared. They seemed to be masters of a tag team attack. The larger grey one sat at his feet and watched him, eyeing each mouthful of food with jealous intent. The smaller one was the real problem. She scaled the back of the chair and tried to climb onto his shoulder, making a direct assault. He wondered if Q allowed them scraps. Probably not. No doubt he had them on some highly scientific regimen. He did admire persistence and these two certainly possessed that. He rewarded them with some of the roast beef, which they devoured with small growls of appreciation. He watched as they retreated to the bed, grooming themselves before settling on the far side and curling up, tails over their noses.

Bond spent the next hours turning the situation over in his head. He didn’t doubt Moneypenny’s assessment and now, with the idea in his head, he began to see what she had been talking about. Bond wasn’t quite sure he knew what ‘in love’ meant, if he had ever known. Q was frighteningly intelligent, sarcastic, entertaining and Bond spent an awful lot of time in some contact with him, whether in the field over coms, or in the labs. He was, in addition, very attractive. Bond was eclectic in his definition of what constituted personal beauty. MI6 was aware he pursued women. He had left them ignorant of his interest in men. Didn’t seem their business since he had not bothered to pursue it much during his employ. A more intimate relationship with his Quartermaster would be no hardship for him. He reflected that he was already emotionally involved. He flashed back to his anger at M when he realized how he had dismissed Q without allowing him any resolution of the situation he had been so invested in. He was rarely that angry on another person’s behalf. So he was actually considering taking things further. 

But how would Q take it? Would Bond's interest seem a poor offering to a man who had a much bigger emotional investment in this? He wasn’t sure about love but he certainly felt something. Would that be enough? 

Q stirred, shifting over to his back and groaning softly. He reached out to the bedside table and fumbled, finally laying hands on the glasses Bond had left there earlier. He made two attempts before he got them straight then swung his legs over the edge of the mattress to sit up. 

Bond let him get settled in the new position before speaking quietly. “I’ll get you more pills in a bit. I’m sure your head could use them.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

His head hurt, probably the worst headache he could remember. And his mouth was deathly dry and tasted like the bottom of an old boot. Not that he would have evidence by direct comparison, but his imagination was sufficient. The bedroom lights were off, illumination coming from the door to the hall. He could hear the rise and fall of noise from an ungodly loud engine then realized it was Nora purring. Bloody cat sounded like a road grader. And she was treading against his back and didn’t that feel just spectacular, like a massage with a cactus. 

He eased around, wondering how he had got himself to bed. And where were his bloody glasses? A brief uncoordinated search of the bedside table found them. He sighed, brought his hands to his face before fitting the frames back on and very carefully sitting up. He remembered. Alcohol didn’t erase recollection, merely interfered with formation of new memories. So drinking to forget had, predictably, not worked. He remembered the op. He remembered the faces of two junior agents, pulled dead out of a collapsed warehouse. He remembered every fucking detail of the search and being sent home before the others could be brought out. He remembered and it all rose up, grief all but choking him.

And a voice spoke out of the dim corner of the bedroom. “I’ll get you more pills in a bit. I’m sure your head could use them.”

Q’s head shot up and he winced as the sudden movement reminded him of how much he had drunk. A figure rose from the chair and approached, cat footed. Bond? Not possible. The man crouched in front of him, placing a solid hand on his knee. “007? Bond?” His voice was hoarse and hesitant. 

The hand tightened. “It’s me. I won’t ask how you feel.” The blue eyes showed a rueful sympathy. “Get another dose of pills and a shower and I’ll make you some tea.” Bond rose and extended a hand and Q moved to take it before it registered that he wasn’t wearing a stitch. It took a second for him to decide it wasn’t very important. In the face of a return from the dead, it was highly irrelevant. Bond seemed to understand his need and handed him the cotton robe that normally hung on the rear of the bathroom door. It felt rough against his skin, everything seemed to be sandpaper on his nerves. He followed along to the bathroom where Bond thankfully left him alone. 

He glanced at the mirror and decided he might avoid doing that again for a bit. The paracetamol bottle was on the edge of the sink. He shook out just the regular dose. Bond had said something about more pills so he had already had some. Didn’t need to overdo those. He brushed his teeth twice, rinsing with a hefty amount of mouthwash in between. He emptied his bladder and adjusted the shower to warm and a very soft spray before stepping in. There was a tap on the bathroom door a moment later. 

“Where are your pyjamas?” Bond asked, disembodied through the door. “I’ll leave some here for you.”

Q leaned one hand on the tile and took a moment to engage his brain. The situation was surreal. But it seemed he had to make some kind of answer. “Second bureau drawer. Pants are in the third.” He ducked his head under the water before he could hear an answer. He shampooed carefully and made sure to condition. Tugging out tangles was something he couldn’t bear the thought of. He soaped and rinsed twice because the soft fall of the water was soothing and the mild lavender in the soap helped his head throb a bit less. He stepped out and found a small pile of things on the sink edge, his glasses on top. He dried his hair and face a bit and put the glasses on. The rest of the pile was pants and his favorite pyjamas, soft from years of wear and washing. There was also a t shirt and a pair of white socks. He finished drying and pulled the clothes on, finding the shirt was inside out but, not having the patience to fiddle with it, he left it as it was. The socks were plain white and he couldn’t recall owning them but they were soft so he just shrugged minutely and put them on. He dragged a brush through his hair briefly, giving that up very quickly and exited the bathroom. 

Both cats were in the kitchen along with an apparently very much alive Bond. He looked up when Q entered and nodded approval. “Did I guess right?” He gestured at Q’s clothes. “Favorite pyjamas, I mean?”

“How would you know that?” Q murmured distractedly, seating himself at the table in front of a gently steaming mug of tea. 

“On top of the others and most worn. Turned the t shirt inside out too so the seams don’t rub. Can’t stand that when I’m hung over.” Bond placed a plate of toast next to the tea. “Think you can handle some scrambled eggs?”

“Don’t have any,” Q answered as he nibbled a corner of the toast.

“You do, thanks to Moneypenny.” Bond removed the eggs from the fridge and cracked several against the side of the bowl he had dug out of the cabinet. 

“Since when is Moneypenny a grocery delivery service?” Q asked.

“Since she was concerned about you and you had nothing in your larder but cat food, tea, coffee, and soda water.” Bond scrambled the eggs and tipped them onto a plate. He slid it across the table and passed over a fork. Q began eating small bites as Bond returned to the stove, scrambling more eggs and adding more toast to a second plate. 

Food and tea were making an impact. Q was feeling less disconnected by the minute. He was still completely at a loss as to why Bond was in his flat making him breakfast. He had accepted that the agent had survived apparent death yet again. He was more than happy about it but he had a mind that refused to leave questions unasked. When Bond sat down to his own breakfast, Q put his fork down and cleared his throat. 

“Later, Q.” Bond only smiled slightly when Q huffed. “I promise I will satisfy your curiosity. Just finish eating. You’ll feel better for it. More tea?” 

And that was that. The man refused to answer questions. He just served more tea, cleaned the dishes and nudged Q into the lounge with yet another cuppa before joining him. 

Bond settled himself on the sofa, propping his own sock clad feet on the low table in front. Q curled himself into the opposite corner, knees drawn up and mug cradled in his hands. “So what happened? In detail please.”

Bond took a deep breath and sighed. “The explosion was half arsed. Imbeciles bought something black market. Bomb squad fellows said it was cut with some kind of clay. And they didn’t know anything about directing the blast either. I saw the detonator and threw myself under the van as the thing went off. Got some scorches and splinters but overall I was just mad to get out as I was trapped under the bloody thing til they cleared the rest of the stuff away. And the whole time I could hear that blasted idiot who was the cause of the whole buggering mess banging at the sides and demanding to be let out.” 

Q studied the man on his sofa. “How bad are you hurt really?” He could see bruises and a few scrapes but he knew Bond was not one to acknowledge injury.

“I really am alright. The last of the splinters came out in the shower last night. Bruised a bit but not as bad as I have had.” Q was shocked when a broad hand reached out and touched his fingers where they curled around his mug. “I know you worry. I’m fine.” Bond sat back and withdrew his hand, much to Q’s regret. “I went back to -6 and found out you weren’t there and that M had sent you home. I may have gotten a bit stroppy with M. I can’t believe he thought that made sense. I told him I was taking time off. Then I came here to see you and realized I had no way to get in.” Bond smiled into his coffee mug. “Please don’t make it necessary for R to emigrate to Antarctica. I was quite persuasive.” Bond’s expression changed to one utterly serious. “You were completely under. I wasn’t sure if I’d need medical but I didn’t want the matter made official if I could help it. Please promise me you won’t do that again. That much alcohol is never a good idea.”

“I don’t remember how much I had,” Q confessed. “I don’t remember much after the ride home.” 

Bond nodded. “You put away the best part of a bottle of scotch, looked like. You needed to get rid of it. The longer it stayed in your stomach, the more the risk. So I tried to get you to the bathroom. Inducing vomiting proved easier than I anticipated. Also a bit quicker.” Bond smiled. “All it took was putting you over my shoulder and…”

Q felt his face heat. “I was sick?”

“Very,” Bond responded. “All over the back of my suit in fact.”

Oh God no. Q had vomited all over Bond, all over his suit. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt ill all over again. “I’m so sorry. Please let me get it cleaned or replace it, whatever.”

Bond threw his head back and full on laughed. “No help there. The blasted suit was already a goner from the job. Shredded, blood stained and reeking of smoke. It was headed for the bin in any case. That was just the final act.” He put the empty mug down. “Your clothes were also christened. I found the washer in the kitchen so they may be salvageable. I’ll look later. I put you to bed and called Moneypenny for a rescue mission. She brought me new clothes and food and then interrogated me about my intentions.”

Very carefully, Q deposited his mug on the table and put his face against his knees, wrapping his arms around under them and rocking slightly. Eve knew. She bloody knew about his stupid one sided love. And Bond was here. Feeling sorry for him. Something Q definitely did not want. “She told you.” His voice sounded utterly defeated, even to himself.

“She seemed to think me rather dense for not seeing it myself but, truth be told, I wasn’t looking for it. I’m no prize and you are rather special.” Bond edged closer and ran a careful hand over Q’s hair, not pulling or demanding, just a very gentle petting. “I’d very much like it if you looked at me. It’s hard to know what you’re thinking most of the time, but it’s even harder when I’m talking to the top of your head.”

Q found himself bloody sniffling again and rubbed his nose irritably against his knees before looking up. “What I’m thinking is that I am an idiot for falling in love with a straight man, letting my gossipy best friend worm it out of me and then getting drunk and bloody well vomiting all over said man who then apparently played babysitter all night so I wouldn’t choke to death and is now being much too understanding of my idiocy. I am genuinely sorry I put you to so much trouble, I am usually much less bother to the people I've fallen in love with. All three of them. I am blathering, aren’t I? I’ll just shut up now.” Q was mortified. He was frankly babbling and probably turning the color of a tomato, if the heat in his face was any guide. And there sat Bond, as casual as Q had ever seen him, in a navy track suit on Q’s sofa watching him with those ice blue eyes that had been the first thing Q had fallen so damned hard for. Life wasn’t fucking fair and Q knew that but why wasn’t it ever unfair in his favor?

Bond tapped Q’s right knee with one finger. “Put your feet on the floor, please. And yes, you are blathering but it is quite adorable so never mind.” Q sputtered indignantly. Adorable? When he was mortified and upset? He found himself doing as directed but bristling a bit. “Better.” Bond shifted across the sofa, threw an arm around Q’s shoulder and tugged. Q found himself sprawling forward across a warm, muscular body and, oh hell, he really wasn’t strong enough, physically or emotionally to fight this. He just subsided and allowed himself to be, frankly and surprisingly, cuddled.

“Bond, what are you doing?” He thought his voice was reasonable and controlled. At least he didn’t squeak. But he was feeling completely at a loss. He was in no way sure what Bond was up to. 

“First, I think first names are more than appropriate here. Please call me James.” The low timbre vibrated through Q’s head from the broad chest under him. “Second, Eve was trying to help. Admittedly, she threatened me with death if I didn’t do the right thing but she was protecting you. Third, you made a miscalculation. I am not straight.” Q’s abortive movement to throw himself sideways was halted by a strong hand between his shoulder blades. He managed to get his head turned awkwardly and found Bond’s face mere inches from his, blue eyes alight with something Q chose not to put a name to. There was no possible way this was real. The unreality increased a hundredfold when James eased past that tiny distance, soft lips warm against his own. Q made a vague protesting sound when the kiss ended. “Who did I just kiss, hmm? I really want an actual name to go with the very attractive form. And don’t tell me it’s classified. Everyone in MI6 knew the old Q’s name. Just never used it. So?”

Damn it all, the man wouldn’t let him hide. “It’s Kit,” he answered. 

“Thank you, Kit,” James responded with a kiss to his forehead. He settled back seemingly happy with the current state of things, running his hand up and down Kit’s back, nape to waist and back again. The movement was relaxed and calming and it showed every sign of continuing indefinitely. 

Q was not quite sure when his life had derailed so thoroughly that he no longer was sure of anything. “What are we doing exactly...James?”

“Well, since I didn’t sleep last night and you still have a headache - don’t try and tell me you don’t - I thought we might take a nap and then have a long talk about things.” 

This sounded utterly sane and reasonable. Which made it suspicious. But it also sounded wonderful. And if it was a new variety of dream or some alcohol induced delusion, it was damned well his and he might as well enjoy it. “Well then, we might be more comfortable if we moved. I mean the bed is bigger than the sofa…”

“Sound thinking,” Bond agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Kit had no clear idea how he had fallen down this particular rabbit hole. His emotions were completely muddled. Here was James herding him down the hall to his bedroom. What in the world did the man want? He had said he wasn’t straight but that could encompass a range of possibilities. He seemed positively affectionate, almost sweet. That was very odd, He had seen 007 flirt and seduce on missions and he never behaved like this. There was no smooth chatter, no innuendo. But here he was with a man who had insisted on his real name and had dismissed his being sick in front of him as a mild inconvenience. He had taken the trouble to decipher which were his favorite pyjamas. How the hell was he supposed to make sense of the man? 

The cats had taken over the bed as usual in the mornings. Nick was spread out sedately on a pillow, early daylight making him blink and then resettle as he dismissed the intruders. Nora gave a happy chirp and rolled over for tummy pets. The little furry hedonist was always looking for attention. James obliged, offering chin scratches which delighted the little hussy. “What are their names?” James inquired, still petting, now rubbing at an ear and eliciting delighted purrs.

“Nick and Nora,” Kit replied, sitting on the mattress and removing his socks. He never felt comfortable sleeping in socks. “I’m a bit of a cinema buff. Old movies especially.” Holding a hand out, James greeted Nick who condescended to rub his face against a finger. Kit watched as James removed the track suit, leaving only plain black briefs and quickly turned his head away. Not the time, Kit, he scolded himself. 

James chuckled and leaned down, dropping a light kiss on the top of his head before sliding under the covers on the far side of the queen mattress. Nick made a disgruntled noise and abandoned the pillow and the bed, heading off to his favorite window no doubt. Nora was less troubled and curled into a space near the headboard, purring at her usual airplane take off decibel level. James held the covers up and Kit hesitantly lay down, abruptly finding out how small a large bed could be. James tugged at his hip and Kit found himself snugged up against a warm body with a heavily muscled right arm thrown over him. He slid his glasses off and placed them on the table before settling his head on the pillow. James breathed gently against his neck, stirring the hair and raising gooseflesh. His head still ached, his eyes gritty and feeling too large for their spaces. He closed them and tried to relax. He wasn’t used to having someone in his bed. He was sure he wouldn’t sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Bond was making every effort to take things very slowly. Kit. He turned the name over in his head. He wondered if it was a nickname or a shortened form of Christopher maybe? He found himself pleased with where he was now. Kit was finally asleep. He had lain awake for a little while. Bond had almost heard the wheels turning in his head. He had eventually given in to the remnants of hangover and exhaustion from days without sleep. He was quiet too, no snoring or murmurings of dreams. It was nice to relax and let his own aches and pains settle and just enjoy the feel of a lovely man in his arms. But he was more than lovely. Q was a man to be respected for his abilities. Although the chain of command was not direct, he technically out ranked the field agents. He certainly out classed them.

He was youthful, gorgeous, frighteningly intelligent and currently very vulnerable. Bond did not delude himself that Q was fragile. He was a man who could take care of himself but Kit was another matter. There was a person under the sarcasm and snarky banter who had been hurt and was not eager to venture out to repeat the experience. 

So, time to tread carefully if he was going to see more of that person. Above all, he needed to treat this whole thing honestly. His work was all subterfuge and games and he tended to let that carry through to his personal life, limited though that was. His few partners over the years, and there were surprisingly few of them, never knew his real name or what he did for a living and he never saw any of them more that a handful of times. Since he never intended to make any of those contacts an actual relationship, he put little of himself beyond the superficial and physical into them, with one devastating exception.

This was new territory. He and Q already had a relationship, one that was essential to the difficult work he had made the focus of his life. He trusted absolutely that Q could handle a more intimate dimension to that relationship. After all, it already existed on his side and had for some time and it had not jeopardized the work at all. If anything, the rapport seemed to improve over time, every mission. 

Bond had long dismissed the romantic notions of love as being a way to dress up physical attraction. But what he was feeling here was not just physical. There was plenty of that but there was also a sharp awareness that this person was more important to him. He was enjoying seeing all the sides of him, even the less pretty ones. Damn, he had never seen anyone quite as hungover and pathetic looking but in the middle of all that he had wanted to kiss him stupid. Not the expected reaction. 

Would it be enough? He really wasn’t sure but he supposed they both might be taking a chance in a lot of ways. He could always just decide he was not good enough for Kit. But that kind of unilateral decision making was not likely to go over well. Kit had already decided who he wanted and that wasn’t going to change because James couldn’t see things the same way. Q was a force of nature when he made up his mind. James had seen him face down people who misjudged him before. That never went well. So, respect the man’s choice and see what they could manage between them? 

He finally put an end to the thinking. He needed sleep if he was going to handle any of this well. He buried his nose in the hair at the back of Kit’s head, The warmth and scent were oddly comforting and he slept.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The bed was warm and both the cats must be there. There was a definite weight at his back. Odd that, Nick rarely napped here during the day. He realized abruptly that the presence was human. “Slept well?” came the deep voice of the man behind him. 

Bond, James he corrected, was leaning up on an elbow and smiling at him. Q quickly reviewed the previous several hours. The bizarre series of events was becoming more real. The nap had helped ground him, removing most of the headache and the disconnected feeling he had been troubled by. “Hello. Yes. How about you?”

James gave him a hug then slid out from under the blankets. “I slept very well, although Nora seemed to think I was in need of grooming. She’s very persistent.” He tugged on the track suit, and Q found himself deeply disappointed as the golden skin disappeared under the material. Bond, of course, caught him looking. “Later, Kit. We need some real food and a conversation. I promise you a personal viewing later.”

With that, the man sauntered out the door. Well. This was unexpected. He rather thought some food was a good idea. Thinking required fuel after all. He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth, wondering idly when the furry feeling in his mouth would disappear. Probably still dehydrated, he thought. He risked a glance in the mirror and was pleased he looked a little better. His skin was no longer sallow and the redness around his eyes was almost gone. Assured he no longer looked like a warmed over corpse, he walked to the kitchen, from which sounds of potential dinner issued. 

He stood in the doorway watching James maneuver a large pan to the stovetop where a pot of water was already heating. “Feel up to some chicken?” James asked. 

“Sounds fine.” Kit thought a moment. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Hidden talents,” James replied while chopping the chicken and a small onion. “I’ve picked up a variety of skills in the course of some of my missions.” He stirred the contents of the saucepan and added the chicken. “Have a seat and something to drink. This won’t take long.”

Kit sipped some water and watched as James cooked, movements economical and confident. It seemed any skill he learned was approached with the same goal of proficiency. In about twenty minutes, he had a plateful of pasta and chicken in a light creamy sauce that smelled wonderful. He pitched in eagerly, hungry for what felt like the first time in weeks. James watched him in between bites of his own dinner.

He declined a second helping, but happily accepted the ice cream James produced. He knew Eve was responsible for that. It was strawberry with the big chunks of fruit in it. Eve always insisted that ice cream was essential to any emotional crisis and she knew his favorite flavor. James cleaned up the dishes, refusing to allow him to do anything so he contented himself with checking on the cats’ provisions and the automated litter tray, a chore he certainly wouldn’t delegate.

They moved back to the lounge, coffee cups in hand. Nerves beginning to get the better of him, Kit fidgeted with his more than drinking it, until James reached over and rescued it, placing both cups on the table. 

James leaned toward him, hands loosely clasped between his knees, eyes bright and direct. “I need to know what you need. I know you feel more for me than you wanted to have me know. I’ll take this any direction you want it to go. We can leave things as they are. I trust you at my back. Nothing has to change and, if you like, I’ll never say another word on the subject. Or we can try and make it something more. I won’t try and convince you I’m feeling what you are. I’m not sure I’m capable of that. But you are one of the only people I trust and I would very much like to make this work.”

Kit swallowed hard. This was a side of James he had never thought to see. But he had a sudden feeling he wouldn’t be able to cope very well if he had the chance to be intimate with this man and then had to listen to him on missions, using that magnetism to insinuate himself into the confidences and beds of others. He hadn't been enough to hold the interest of his previous partners. And he already knew James had a predilection for variety. Before he could come up with a way to say so without sounding like a schoolgirl, James spoke again. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it. If you decide to accept the idea, I won't be looking elsewhere in my off time. No more one night stands and air hostesses. I rather fancy the idea of coming home to the same person regularly. And before you mention it, I don’t have to take the missions where sex is part of the plan. There are other agents who would be more than happy to be assigned those. I may be getting a little old for that anyway.” Kit was silent for a very long time. So long that James shook his head. “Probably a bad risk,” he began.

“NO! I mean yes! That’s absolutely something I want.” Kit was tripping over his tongue in his eagerness to agree. He wasn’t sure what had landed this opportunity in front of him but he wasn’t about to let it pass. He had fancied himself in love twice before and neither of those attachments had led anywhere. It was about time he had someone he really wanted instead of casual partners, and few enough of those since he had taken his current position. It didn’t bother him that James wasn’t professing love. He was being honest and sharing what he could. “I want you, this.” Normally he had enviable facility with words. Right now he was having trouble with single syllables. Time to abandon the words and grasp what he wanted. Kit squared up his shoulders and stood, feeling the weight of the moment. Two steps brought him to stand in front of James who looked up with a welcoming smile. Kit eased his knees onto the cushions on either side of James’ hips and managed a smile back before he grabbed hold of the conveniently placed rather prominent ears and pulled James in for a kiss. It felt like everything he had ever wanted, both of them tasting of coffee and ice cream as James brought his arms up behind Kit’s back, bringing them even closer. Kit wasn’t really inexperienced but he had never had an opportunity to luxuriate in kisses like this. Prior partners had seemed to regard kissing as a means to an end. James appeared to have all the time in the world for it. Their tongues slid over and around each other, mapping teeth and palates. The hush of the room was broken with soft sighs and increasingly wet and filthy noises as the kissing became more erotically charged. Kit was squirming a little, desperate to have more contact. He remembered seeing all that golden tanned skin earlier and he wanted to get his hands on that.

“May I have my ears back please?” James whispered against his mouth. 

“But they make such good handles,” Kit responded, trying for another kiss and meeting James' chin instead of his lips. He reluctantly released his hold. 

James rubbed his right ear ruefully. “I’m not going anywhere. Except, perhaps, to the bedroom with you. I don’t think the sofa is the best place for this to progress. And I have some wicked ideas of what to do with you.”

Kit gave a pleasurable shiver and stood, He found himself walked backward down the hall to the bedroom, unwilling to take his eyes off James. He became more uncertain standing next to the bed. James stepped up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist and placed a line of nibbling kisses along Kit’s neck. The strong hands grasped the hem of the tee shirt and lifted it. Kit raised his arms and allowed the shirt to slide up and off leaving his hair even more tousled than usual. James dropped the shirt and ran his fingers down Kit’s spine, tracing the vertebrae. When Kit tried to turn around, he was halted by James’ hands on his hips. He stilled and turned his head over his shoulder. James was studying him, gazing raptly at the lines of his back, finally slipping his fingers under the waistband of Kit’s pyjamas and pants and sliding them down to his ankles and waiting as he stepped out of them. “So lovely,” James murmured, his voice silky and intimate. “Lie down, on your stomach please.”

Kit eased himself onto the mattress, adjusting his position to accommodate his increasingly interested erection. He was a bit apprehensive but very aroused. He heard the slither of fabric and turned his head to see James slipping out of the track suit. As more skin was revealed, Kit’s eyes widened and James grinned at him, preening a bit. He moved to kneel on the bed, leaning in to steal a kiss, sucking lightly at Kit’s lower lip and then whispering, “Do you need the glasses right now?” Kit shook his head. He was nearsighted but James was going to stay close enough to see easily. The glasses were plucked off and placed carefully on the bedside table. He dropped his head on his crossed arms and tried to relax, wondering what was in the mind of the man next to him. He didn’t have to wonder long. He felt calloused fingers slide down his back, a gentle stroke that awakened nerves that shouldn’t have been so sensitive. The soft strokes moved back up and out to his shoulders, light and just on the verge of being ticklish. James followed his fingers with his mouth, alternating kisses with licks as though trying to learn him by taste. Kit squirmed a little and received a sharp nip to the back of his neck. “Patience, darling. This is worth taking time over.” James’ voice was low and controlled. “I never rush someone I really want to be with.” 

The touches moved down to his arse and increased in focus and intensity, James lavishing attention there, seeming to cover every square centimeter of skin with kisses and Kit found himself breathing harder and trying to keep himself from thrusting into the mattress. James finally gave a tug to one hip. “Turn over,” he directed. Easier said than done. He managed it finally, settling back and tugging a pillow under his head so he could see what James was doing. And what he was doing at present was looking. Glacial blue eyes scanned up and down and Kit felt embarrassment start to creep in. It was as if James could read his mind. Before he could make a move to cover his erection which was making a hell of a display of eagerness, James reached for his wrists. Hands that could do so much damage to opponents clasped gently but irresistibly. “No need for hiding,” James murmured, “just keep your hands there and let me play a bit.”

Kit gasped in a harsh breath and nodded. James released his wrists with a gentle pat and began on his front as maddeningly as he had on his back, delicate strokes and random kisses and licks, always avoiding the obvious sensitive areas and finding spots that shouldn’t be such a pleasure to have touched. He licked a hot stripe up Kit’s sternum and across a delicate collarbone, turning his face to scratch a little with the stubble just starting to appear on his chin. Kit was going a bit mad with the overload of sensation, his cock twitching and drooling without being touched at all. 

James was working down his left arm alternating kisses and licks and Kit arched off the bed when a random stroke hit the crease of his elbow. James chuckled wickedly and repeated the action, varying the pressure and rubbing a thumb over the area as he lifted his head. Kit moaned and tried to pull his arm back, but James just kept up the maddening touches before making a grab for the other arm and treating it to the same tortuous attention until Kit was writhing and gasping out curses while he bucked his hips trying to get his cock into contact with any portion of his entirely infuriating lover. He didn’t have to struggle long. James brought his mouth back to his, thrusting between his lips with a possessive tongue and dragging his hands up to find Kit’s nipples, rolling and rubbing them and making Kit howl into the kiss until James finally brought his hand down and grasped Kit’s cock. His hand was firm and absolutely perfect and Kit was almost crying with relief as he got what he had been craving. But James only stroked him twice before sitting back entirely. Kit was about to protest but lost any ability to make a coherent sound as James eased down the mattress and replaced his hand with that hot mouth. He wound his too clever tongue around the aching length as he rode the frantic movements of Kit’s hips, the sounds obscenely wet and absolutely glorious. Kit felt the heavy pressure of impending release and couldn’t manage to warn James in time. He poured himself into James’ throat and the man had no hesitation in swallowing and holding his drained cock on his tongue before finally giving it a soft kiss and sitting back with a cat got the cream look on his craggy features.

Kit reached out a hand that positively was not shaking and James grasped it and kissed the palm then eased himself up along Kit’s side, placing Kit’s hand over his cock giving a deep groan as Kit wrapped slender fingers around the firm length. “Don’t you want…” Kit started to ask.

James kissed him and pushed into his hand. “Nothing too complex, darling. We’ve got lots of time for all kinds of fun. Just this right now.” He moved more firmly, rutting against Kit’s hip within the circling hand. He stole Kit’s mouth in another kiss, thrusting his tongue in the same rhythm. Kit felt the sudden tension in every muscle of the powerful body and then a gasp into his mouth and a few more irregular thrusts. He felt the wet heat on his skin and watched as James pulled back with a smile on his lips and buried his sweaty forehead in Kit’s neck. He simply lay there for a bit, breathing deeply and steadily. Kit wondered if he had gone to sleep but after a few moments, he rolled to the side and dragged Kit with him, their skin damp with sweat and sticky with come. “Come shower with me?” James asked after lying there for several minutes. “Give me some time to feel ready for the next round.”

Kit looked at him, still vaguely feeling this might be a dream. “Next round?” He sounded idiotic to his own ears.

“Yes, next round, I have lots of seriously filthy things I want to do with you. So get that pretty arse up and in the shower.” James grinned almost boyishly and tapped the referenced arse with the back of one hand. Kit sat up and followed him, bemused and smiling.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“How filthy?” Kit asked feeling a great deal more relaxed about the situation than he had earlier. Perhaps the best orgasm he could recall had something to do with that. James just frankly leered without answering. Kit couldn't recall anyone ever leering at him. It seemed prudent to head for the shower quickly. He was not sure that look was entirely to be trusted. 

Kit stepped into the shower and reached for his shampoo. Before he could do a thing, the shower door slid back and James plucked the bottle away. Kit found himself shoved under the spray and was treated to a wonderful scalp massage. James seemed to have a limitless store of surprises. Kit relaxed under the ministrations initially. But that couldn’t stand. He wanted his turn. He had spent long enough admiring the man from afar. Now he wanted to get his hands on all those muscles. James offered a token resistance, fending off exploratory fingers, but laughed and gave in when Kit frankly pouted. James turned and Kit ran soapy greedy hands over broad shoulders, scars mapping the life of the man. 

Kit worked his way down pausing at the rise of tight buttocks. James used his body hard and his muscles reflected that. Kit pressed and stroked and slid down further, fingers brushing the insides of thighs.James twitched and shifted his legs apart a little. Kit took advantage of the opportunity. and eased his fingers forward to cradle the heavy balls, rolling them slowly and very gently. James shuddered and seemed to tense ever so slightly and Kit paused, hardly breathing wondering if he had spoiled the moment. James heaved in a hoarse breath and reached his own hand down, covering Kit’s fingers and resuming the motion. Reassured, Kit gave a few more touches then moved back rubbing a knuckle up into the area just behind the sack and James groaned and pressed down against it. Kit circled the area, judging where he got the best response. “Keep that up and you can take the consequences,” James said in a low growl.

“I was hoping to,” Kit replied, fully on board with the idea of having the chance to reverse their roles. He stood up and turned James to face him, taking notice that the man’s cock was taking a very healthy interest in the proceedings. Older he might be but his amazing physical condition was obviously a benefit in more ways than just work. Kit scraped agile fingers through James short hair and eased them both back under the spray to rinse. He toweled quickly and tugged James through to the bedroom, even as the man was still using his own towel to dry off and laughing outright at Kit’s eagerness. Kit snatched the towel away. “Enough of that. Sit down.”

“Bossy little git,”James grumbled, not at all bothered. He settled on the edge of the mattress, hands on knees and cock shifting slightly with his breathing. Kit took a moment to just stare, before moving in and nudging in between James’ thighs. He rested his hands on the muscled shoulders and pressed. James obligingly eased back, leaning on his elbows. 

Kit weighed options. He wanted to make this as much of an experience as he had been given but he wasn't sure his skills were up to the challenge. Still, he seemed to be doing all right so far. Maybe try a bit of what James had done. People generally seemed to give partners what they liked themselves. He was overthinking this he was sure. He stretched his arms up and placed his hands flat on the broad planes of James' chest, gliding in slow circles, fingers occasionally brushing a nipple. He was rewarded with soft pleasured sighs. He stroked down and breathed lightly over the skin of the tight muscled abdomen before laying down a series of licks and kisses and tickling the navel with the tip of his tongue. James' cock was bobbing up, the head tapping damply at the base of Kit's chin. He avoided the temptation, sliding his fingers and mouth down a thigh and throwing in soft nips at random and hearing hisses and sighs above him. He smiled to himself, pleased he was making James as crazy as the man had made him. He trailed random touches from mouth and fingers over the other thigh before nudging at the weight of James' balls with his nose and licking a stripe up the sack. James gave a muffled curse and shifted his legs even further apart. Kit, encouraged, continued the slow licks for a bit, varying the angles and pressure and finally slid his lips over one firm globe, mouthing and sucking very lightly. 

James was panting now, sweat mingling with musk and utterly delighting Kit. He treated the other side to the same gentle caresses and let go only to trail his tongue up the length of the solid erection in front of him. James bucked and groaned out loud. Kit laid his hands on James' hips and looked up through his messy hair to see blue eyes staring down at him, darkened with desire and intent on what he was doing. Kit kept the eye contact as he licked again, swirling his tongue around the head of James' cock and licking up precome. He repeated the action and then opened his mouth and sank as far down as he could, keeping one hand around the base to keep from going so far as to gag himself. He had no illusions about this part of his experience. He had overestimated his capacity before and he wasn't about to choke himself. He slid up and down, hearing James murmur encouragement above him and feeling the tension in the heavy muscles shift and flex. He could feel his own arousal as a background to what he was focused on, present but not something he needed to give immediate attention to. He curled his tongue in swirling motions around the head on his upstrokes and was rewarded with muffled curses and a hand that came down to rest on the back of his head, flexing and petting and encouraging. Kit sped up and slowed down, delighting in the responses he got. James began moving his hips up following each upstroke. Kit rode the movement, sliding his hand with his mouth, slicked by spit and precome. The wet sounds spurred him on and he increased the suction and James gave a sharp gasp, when Kit slid down further than he had yet dared and swallowed hard as the head of James' cock met the back of his throat. Salt and hot, the fluid flooded his mouth and he swallowed as much as he could, small trickles spilling as he pulled away. He sat back on his heels, leaning against James' knee. Pushing himself up, he straddled the lean hips. He looked down into blue eyes and stroked himself the way he knew would bring him off easily. James reached a hand up, covering his and moving with him until he arched his back and painted James' groin with his own come. 

He was prepared to collapse forward and take some time to relax but a sudden unexpected noise intruded. There was a nasty whistling sound with a varying volume and tone, impossible to ignore. James rolled to the side and hooked his tracksuit pants off the floor where they had landed during round one. He rummaged for a moment and hauled out his mobile. He thumbed the button and the noise stopped and he stared at the cracked screen, frowning. 

“What is it?” Q asked, his attitude subtly changing back to a work footing. “That's a general call out.” . 

“Damned screen is too damaged to see the details. Check yours and I'll try calling in.” Bond stepped immediately back into the skin he wore on the job. He headed for the wardrobe where he had hung up his suit bag and took it to the bathroom, cleaning up quickly before dressing. Q reentered the room as he was returning, fastening his cuffs. 

“It's bad. There's multiple domestic terror incidents directed at politicians and bureaucrats and M wants me back ASAP in a secure location. Apparently there have been attempts on IT experts in other agencies. I'm told to anticipate an indefinite stay.” He ducked out to the bathroom and wiped down sketchily and then began to dress, putting other items in a small case he pulled out of the wardrobe. 

“Grab only what you need. I've told Moneypenny to send a car and some spare magazines for my weapon.” Bond efficiently gathered up the items he had brought and retrieved his holster from the shelf he had stowed it on. He shrugged into the straps and slid the suit jacket on and watched as Q dragged two mesh sided bags out of a cupboard and set them on the floor near the door along with a grey duffle labeled 'Cat Gear'. “You don't expect me to catch the cats?” Bond asked, eye brows rising. “We don't have the time.”

“They come with me. I have more stuff for them in my office. Watch.” He pulled a small device out of the side of the grey bag and clicked it twice. Both cats came running and scooted into the open bags. Q tossed some treats in and zipped the bags up. “It's called operant training. This way I don't worry about them. And that should be the car.” He checked the alert on his mobile and gestured at Bond to head down to the street. The driver was a taciturn older man. He had parked as close to the door as he could. His face was grim as he helped with the bags, Q determinedly stowing the cats in the back seat. Bond was handed a metal box that proved to contain the promised spare ammo. The driver took a circuitous route, checking behind often and doubling back several times before heading more directly to headquarters. Bond, sitting next to the driver, divided his attention between the road and the mirrors. The late night traffic was still heavy enough to be used as cover. Q scrolled through the screen on a tablet, trying to put together the data in a way that made sense.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 

The car parked in front of the nondescript back entrance to the complex. The driver exited the car and moved to the door to open it for Q. Bond opened the passenger door just as a series of impacts hit the rear window before the driver grunted and spun around, dropping to the sidewalk. Bond reacted instantly, slamming the armored door and throwing himself across the seat to the driver's side. Q followed his lead, shutting his door and throwing himself down below the windows. Bond had enough to concern himself about. Q was better off keeping his head down and allowing the expert to do his job. He knew the vehicle was armored but sufficiently heavy repeated impacts would compromise even bulletproof glass and there was no telling what sort of armament might be brought to bear. Q had no illusions he was a prime target and protocol dictated his safety was the main consideration.

Q kept one arm over the cat carriers even though Bond was not driving recklessly. Indeed, he was steering with precise movements and just at the top end of the speed limit, not attracting attention. He watched the mirrors constantly and criss-crossed the streets multiple times, finally heading for the nearest motorway and easing into the traffic. “Q, can you get at your secure phone and see what you can find out?”

Q scrambled up and checked the cats briefly. They seemed unfazed and comfortable as he dug out the mobile and dialed in on the department emergency line. After a few prompts to verify his credentials, he was connected to the crisis desk, apparently manned by Moneypenny. “Q, are you all right? The cameras picked up what happened at the door.” 

“We're both all right. How's the driver?” Q remembered seeing the man hit the pavement. He adjusted the phone to speaker so Bond could hear the conversation.

“He's in surgery and expected to survive. He was wearing body armor but the shot got in under his arm. Are you with 007?” Moneypenny carefully did not ask where they were. 

“We're moving. Seems best at the moment. How bad is the compromise?” Q glanced forward, catching Bond's gaze in the mirror to confirm he was hearing. 

“There have been hits and attempted kidnappings of a dozen individuals, all of them deep in the intelligence community. The suspects seem previously unconnected but the timing says otherwise. M is on lockdown here along with the majority of the staff. There was an incursion at his home.” Moneypenny paused and said something to someone in the background. “Do you have access to a secure terminal?”

“I will have when we have time to stop. Send me what you have and I'll see if I can find the connection.” He thought for a moment. “I must be a prime target and they'll doubtless be working to find me. 007 and I are going under. I have a place in mind that won't be traceable.” He broke the connection and leaned forward. “Stop at the next convenient place. I want to move up to the front so I can direct you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“My bolthole. Something unconnected to who I am now, There's a small property that belongs to my maternal grandmother. It was an anniversary gift from her first husband. Very complicated paper trail. And I have only been there a few times to set up security. She told me I could use it if I ever needed to so I made it as safe as I could. It's nowhere in any file about me.”

“Sounds better than trusting a department safehouse. No telling if the locations may have leaked,” Bond said after a moment's thought. He drove past the next exit and took the one after that, pulling up in a layby and keeping several large transports between the car and the poles that held the CCTV cameras and the huge light fixtures. The large overhead lamps meant security for the average driver but made them more vulnerable. Q moved with alacrity, settling himself in the passenger seat and pulling out a small actual paper notebook. He studied the signs and then referred to the book. “Take the next exit and head east. We need to change cars. The shooter at headquarters saw this car and I don't think we can trust anything on MI6's databases to not be traceable.”

“Good thinking. I take it you have an option?” Bond followed Q's directions and navigated along some smaller streets and through a roundabout to a unremarkable series of semi detached houses. There was a rank of garages opposite.

“Wait here a moment.” Q exited the car and opened a simple padlock on one of the doors. He entered and backed out in a Volvo estate wagon, gesturing Bond to pull the big sedan in to the now empty garage. They transferred the cases and cats and locked up the garage, heading back to the motorway with Q driving this time. “It's registered to my Grandmother. She has a mechanic friend who runs it and keeps it up but I pay her for all the expenses. It's very unlikely anyone is looking for this car and since I've never come to this particular address, there's no connection to me.” 

Bond settled back, taking the time to check his weapon. “We're a bit short on firepower. I have my Walther and a fair number of spare magazines that Moneypenny sent along but that won't last long in a determined assault.”

“When we get out, check the rear compartment, under the spare tire. You might be a bit happier.” Q gave a sideways smirk, obviously pleased with the degree of foresight he was able to demonstrate. “When I was first hired at MI6, I upped my own security considerably. When I was made Quartermaster, I decided my personal safety would be at risk at least sometimes. It's why the division has self defense and marksmanship. We're not up to field agent standards but I insist everyone in the department can defend themselves. I also thought ahead and made sure I could get to a safe place and be able to stave off anyone trying to get in with anything short of an SAS squad. I had the car brought to a secure location and made a few modifications before Nan got it back.”

Bond looked at him with open admiration. “You always surprise me, Q.” He peeked over into the rear seat. “Are they OK?” Nora was beginning to make disgruntled noises and poke at the carrier sides.

“They're used to the carriers. I trained them to it deliberately. I hate the idea of leaving them at risk and cats are smarter than most people think. She's just bored.” Q kept his eyes on the road and exited a short while later. “We're here anyway.”

The exit led them to a lovely village, the sort of place tourists might inundate if they could find it. Q navigated through the small collection of buildings and back into the countryside, going some distance down several increasingly narrow lanes and pulled up in a graveled space next to a cottage with manicured shrubbery that helped mask the fact that the windows refracted oddly – bulletproof. Bond spotted several cameras and assumed there were more. “We'll pull the car around the back once I get the cats inside. Then you can check out the other supplies.” Q hefted the carriers and left the remainder to Bond who followed him to the door. The access panel was hidden behind a brass lockplate. The door opened on an entry hall with coathooks and an old fashioned umbrella stand. Q retrieved one of those fancy automated litter pans from a hall closet and placed it in a convenient corner. He moved down to the kitchen, setting out food and water bowls and filling both. He returned to the hall and opened the carriers. The cats emerged, flicking their tails and stretching a bit before heading nonchalantly for the provisions. “They'll be busy for a bit. Just watch when you open the doors. I'll set the rest of the alarms if you'll put the car in the shed.” He tossed the keys over and Bond headed back outside.

The shed had a simple padlock and a key on the fob he had been handed opened it. Bond pulled the car in and closed the doors before opening the hatch and lifting the mat where a spare tire and jack normally fitted. Instead there was a matte metal case with a lock fitted at the lower edge. Another key fit that lock and opening it was a very pleasant surprise. There was a very nice FN with a scope mounting that looked custom. Ammunition cases were fitted into the foam cutouts and there was a small box of flash and gas grenades. Another case held a pair of MI6 modified Sigs and a serious lot of ammo for them. 

“Bond?” Q called from the back door. “The whole case unlatches. Just bring the lot in.” He checked the sides and back of the mounting and found simple hinged clasps that released the portable gunsafe. He closed the lid and hefted the thing out of the shed and relocked the door. He left the case inside the back door of the cottage and watched as Q keyed a number in and a red light blinked on. “All the doors and windows are alarmed and active. If you give me your mobile, I'll set up the alerts. I decided against audible alarms. Just an alert tone. Anyone trying to enter won't know they've tripped anything.”

“What about provisions?” Bond asked as Q worked over the phone. He idly opened a cupboard door and saw ranks of cans and cartons. 

“Grandmother comes out here every month or so and makes sure the nonperishables are stocked and checks the freezer. There's a huge one in the basement. We should be good for meals for a month easily. And there's a back up generator so the power can't be cut. We can hold out here pretty indefinitely.” 

Bond shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the case as he filled the kettle, “How did you manage that? Don't you have to account for all weapons in the department?”

Q set the mobile down and checked a laptop open on the counter. “Hidden among damaged and destroyed inventory and prototype testing.” He smiled to himself. “And I am encouraged to keep personal weaponry for self defense in the event of emergency. And, as the department head in charge of issuing ordnance, I get to decide what is sufficient.”

Bond chuckled. “I knew you were clever. How good is your weapons training?”

“Modestly, good. I use the range regularly and I can fire anything in the armory with reasonable accuracy,” Q replied. 

More serious, Bond pushed. “What's reasonable?”

Q tapped a few keys. “My scores,” he said, pointing at the screen.

Bond whistled. “Reassuring. Your scores are better than half the 00's on the range. Very respectable. Have to remember to stay on your good side.”

“Doesn't mean I'd be any good at field work,” Q responded. “I've never had to fire on anything but a target. And I know that's worlds away from what you do. I have no illusions. I would be able to fend off a casual effort but for anything serious I would rather rely on someone with real experience.” He turned away from the keyboard. “In short, I am very glad you're here.” 

Bond grabbed him by an elbow as he shifted between the laptop and the two tablets he had set up. He reeled him in and wrapped both arms around him, “I'm glad to be here as well.” He tightened his hold and Q gave a soft murmur of approval, swallowed up by the kiss that stole his breath. Bond drew back and kissed his forehead and relaxed his hold. “Tea? I imagine you'll need some if you intend to solve this problem.”


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Several pots of tea and a serving of sandwiches were consumed before Q had a vague picture forming out of the puzzle pieces. He ran fingers through already disordered hair and sipped from the latest mug placed at his elbow. Bond was seated opposite him, cleaning and checking the mechanisms of the weapons. “It's all a front,” he mused out loud. “These are all unconnected groups. Look here.” He gestured to Bond to move around the table. He scrolled down a list of names. Some had photos attached, others had blank frames where the picture would have been. “See these first fifteen names? They all belong to the organizing committee of an anti nuke group. The most violent thing any of them ever did was spill red paint all over the sidewalk outside a research reactor lab. Yet five of them were caught on camera abducting a member of the military defense committee and three of them were blown to hell in that warehouse. It appears that all of them were aware of it and helped plan it. One of my opposite numbers in another department was injured fighting off four men who attacked her leaving her son's school. Her son is all right but she's in hospital under strict guard. The men who did it are part of a group demanding government transparency about surveillance of citizens. I could go on but the pattern repeats. These are all groups that are in some way anti government but never previously in a violent sort of way. Protests, marches and pamphlets are the way they've been operating. We have files on all of them but surveillance was never priority once we saw what they were about. It's unreasonable to assume coincidence when they all change tactics in a few day's time and all simultaneously.”

Bond ran a finger down the list. “These were some of the ones who went after your counterpart.” He puzzled out the affiliation. “They call themselves 'Watching Big Brother'?” He frowned. “I agree there has to be something else behind this. Some one or some organization is using these groups to create chaos.”

Q nodded and switched to another page. “The kidnapper who survived the warehouse died about two hours ago. He was never lucid enough to question. But the ones who failed the kidnapping at the school are in custody and their lives are being excavated for any information. There has to be a clue there somewhere.” He determinedly began poring over the intelligence files on the groups, looking for emails or social media connections. “Someone had to coordinate all this. And to do that, they had to communicate with someone in each group. I'll find them.” 

It took another hour. Bond enjoyed watching Q work. He kept busy with fetching tea and keeping in touch with Moneypenny at HQ. “Got the bastard!” Q wore a gloating grin that told of his pleasure in besting a rival. “Clever but not clever enough.” 

“So we have a name?” Bond inquired mildly, touching the grip of the Walther that was lying on the table between them. 

“Not a name, no. But I can see where he's been and what he's done. He appears to be working out of Russia but he's routing everything through multiple connections so it looks like different domains and servers. None of these groups were in contact with each other. All of them were in contact with him but under different names and with information that was designed to appeal to their causes. He was using their anti government fervor to aim them at the targets he wanted eliminated. The MP on the intelligence committees was described as heading a movement to increase funding for research on nuclear powered naval vessels. And every target was painted with the colors that would make the individual groups think they were striking a blow for their causes.”

“What about you?” Bond was watching the streams of data light up Q's face, reflecting off his glasses. 

“I am, apparently, a megalomaniac trying to create an AI that will control human beings. I'm supposedly responsible for trying to microchip the entire population of Britain, like tagging livestock. There's a real problem there. The group he flogged that story to is not a bunch of neo-hippies. He contacted an extreme conservative group that has been implicated in multiple assaults and at least one murder. They call themselves the Militia. I'm rather thinking the politicians are a red herring. They're high profile but the real targets are the intelligence heads. He's planning something to behead MI6 by taking out M and myself which means that he wants us out of the way for some larger purpose.”

“You mean he wants you out of the way.” Bond was leaning forward examining the screen display. “How do you think he latched on to you?”

“Doubt he knows who I am personally, although the people who could do this sort of thing are a small circle. It's possible we've met. The files on me are all massively redacted and the really relevant material is paper only. Anything electronic is subject to hacking, no matter how good the security is. But, there is no possibility he'd miss my signature on the systems I supervise. He's smart enough to know I'm the one blocking his plans most directly. I think he stirred up the entire intelligence community to make sure MI6 would be in the middle of it with me supervising.” Q scowled at the screen. “We may not know each other's names but we're definitely facing off over the same chess board.”

“So what's next?” Bond, as always, anticipated action. 

“Nothing right this minute. I have the staff working on the members of the Militia group. None of them seem to communicate except through aliases and they're using a code that I haven't seen before. We're running an algorithm on that. It's just going to take time. Thankfully, MI6 is under wraps and there have been no other incidents for the past six hours.” Q sat back and pushed his glasses up on his head, rubbing his eyes. He reached down to pet Nora who was demanding attention she apparently felt she had been deprived of. Bond found himself sympathizing.

“Then you should probably take a break,” he suggested. “You can take a fresh look in a few hours and get a different perspective.”

Q's green eyes studied him speculatively. “That is a remarkably good suggestion. I take it you have an idea how to fill that time?” 

Bond stood and stalked slowly to a position just behind Q's chair. He leaned down and placed his hands on the narrow shoulders and squeezed gently. His breath stirred tiny hairs and raised gooseflesh as he whispered, “I'd rather fill you.” He followed that up with a lascivious lick up Q's neck to his ear, nipping lightly at the lobe and chuckling when the body under his hands broke out in an all over shiver.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Kit tilted his head back, allowing freer access to his neck. James obliged, licking, kissing and finally ending with a slow, langourous possession of Kit's mouth, One broad hand held his head still as James' tongue explored and sparred with Kit's. The moment stretched, something stolen out of the frantic pace of the past many hours. Kit reflected that he could easily become addicted to kisses like these. James pulled away minutely, whispering against Kit's lips. “I take it the idea appeals?”

Kit nodded. “I was wondering if you'd ask. Hoping actually.”

James pulled him up to stand, one arm circling Kit's shoulders and the other hand resting against his face. “I like it when my partner is on the same page as I am. Much more fun that way. And I would have gotten to actual fucking earlier if we hadn't been interrupted.” He grinned and leaned in for a kiss that turned into a bite, teeth tugging at Kit's lower lip before releasing it and licking it soothingly. “Rather a good thing we waited. You might have been a little less sanguine about the ride here.” 

Kit pulled back. “You are not at all what I expected.”

James grinned unrepentant and a litle smug. “Does that mean I exceed expectations, darling?”

Caught in the spirit of enjoyment, Kit reached up and tipped his glasses down, peering over the top of the frames and doing his best to look serious. “So far as preliminary findings, yes. But I think further testing is in order.” He pulled off the glasses and reached his other hand around to grab James by the loosened tie he was still wearing. He tugged and held the man still for a hungry kiss. He wondered if he would ever get enough of the way this man kissed. He thought he might be able to spend a whole evening just kissing except that he still hadn't been fucked and he needed desperately to find out if his dreams and desires were anything like the reality. If the previous day was anything to judge by, he might spontaneously combust. He reflected it was worth the risk.

Kit reluctantly pulled away from James, letting the tie slide through his fingers and walking backward toward the stairs. James took the hint and followed easily, after picking up his Walther and his mobile. No amount of erotic tension was going to diminsh the urgency of the external crisis and safety was still a major concern. 

Kit led the way up the stairs, The master suite was a comfortable space with an old fashioned brass bed and a plush carpet covering a rich dark wood floor. The windows were concealed with heavy drapes that effectively cut off any sight of them from the outside. Kit crossed the room and lit the small gas fire and pulled back the handmade quilt, folding it over the foot rail. He gave James another brief kiss and retreated to the ensuite, It had been way too long since he had felt easy enough with a lover to do this. He dug in the cabinet under the sink and extracted some baby wipes and started the shower. Clean up accomplished, he ducked back to the bedroom, passing James in the doorway and getting a cheery kiss and a quick grope at his ass under the towel. He dug through his bag while James showered and found the lube and condoms at the bottom and placed them on the bedside table next to the wipes. And had a sudden attack of nerves. It wasn't just that it had been a very long time between partners. It wasn't he didn't enjoy fucking, he definitely did. That was one of the reasons his dreams had taken the form they had. It certainly wasn't that he thought James would be rough. That was ridiculous. The man he had in his bed last night was caring and generous. He shook himself. He was being silly and attaching way too much importance to something that was only a part of the intimate connection between two people. It was normal to be a little nervous with a new person in your life and he knew it was exaggerated in this case. It mattered to him more because of who it was.

The shower cut off and he heard the door open a few minutes later. James emerged, running a towel through his hair and otherwise gloriously naked. Kit wondered how long it would be before he stopped staring every time. James emerged from under the towel and gave a toothy grin. He tossed the towel to one side and advanced, every footfall precise and balanced. The fire cast a flickering glow that picked out highlights on the positive acres of skin and Kit could touch all of it. The thought left his mouth dry and his heart speeding up. James halted directly in front of him and glanced over his shoulder at the bedside table, then caught Kit's gaze and held it. “Nervous?” James cocked one eyebrow and gentled his smile. 

“That obvious?” Kit suddenly felt transparent. James seemed to divine too much from a single look at him. 

“And you think I'm not?” James raised a hand to Kit's face, leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I want this to live up to your imagination. That's a lot to measure up to.” He punctuated the thought with a kiss to Kit's neck, then his cheek, then his mouth and Kit melted, sliding his arms up and around his lover, rubbing their still damp bodies together and luxuriating in the feel of muscles under skin, in the scent of James overlaid by clean soap, in the taste of heated kisses. He squeaked as James spun them around and dropped them both to the bed. They ended up side by side and took up the kiss again, hands trading caresses until James rolled them again and Kit ended up stretched out on top of him, looking down into the bluest eyes. It mimicked the position they had been in on the couch that first night, but this time no inconvenient clothing separated them. Kit moved restlessly, seeking more contact and giving a happy moan as he began rubbing his erection at James' hip, feeling the firm press of flesh from James' cock. He gave in to the need for contact and chased his arousal until James clapped both hands over his ass and pressed down, stilling the motion and drawing a whine from Kit.

James' voice was gentle and reached through the haze of Kit's sex addled brain. “Do you need to come now? Maybe a good idea, relax you a little.” 

Kit tried to slow his breathing and managed to gasp out, “Just need you, please.” He couldn't remember ever being this desperate. 

James' mouth settled next to Kit's ear. “Go ahead then, Come on.” He punctuated the words with a flex of his fingers into Kit's arse, encouraging a rhythm and peppering his face with kisses until Kit was gasping again and the movement of his hips became irregular. He gave a soft groan and came, dropping his head to James' shoulder and letting his heart rate slow. 

James continued tracing patterns on his skin, seemingly relaxed although Kit could feel the arousal that was still simmering. “How do you want me?” He finally managed to ask when his pulse was no longer rabbit fast.

“I'm not picky,'” James replied. “I rather thought I might let you decide how you'd be most comfortable. You did say it had been a while since you did anything like this.”

Kit's brain froze. He thought he had known what he wanted. He had dreamed of James over and surrounding him in heat, pinning him to the mattress under his weight. He had also dreamed of watching James' eyes as he slowly moved in Kit's welcoming body. He had no idea what to ask for now. “I don't know how to manage what I want. I want to feel you plastered all over me and wrapped around me but it's not possible for me to watch your face if you do me from behind. And I'm not sure which I want more.”

James craned his head back at an awkward angle then rolled Kit off to the side. He stood up, grabbed the lube and condoms and pulled Kit upright. “This is why you need a tactical mind. I make use of every resource.” He tugged Kit behind him to the rug in front of the fire. He leaned to one side and nudged the wardrobe door farther open. A large mirror took up the space inside the door. He took a few steps back and crouched down, eyeing the view in the glass from where he was and made a broad inviting sweep with one hand. “Wishes granted, a specialty.” 

Kit knelt gingerly on the rug, thick and warm under his knees. He glanced at the mirror and, indeed, both he and James were easily visible and close enough for him to see without the glasses. His stomach dropped. He would be able to see James but he was also faced with the prospect of watching himself come apart. A real case of be careful what you wish for. He was distracted by a pair of strong hands settling at his shoulder and gliding down to his hips and shifting him a few inches sideways. Soft touches teased and promised and he began to relax. One hand disappeared and there was a soft click of a cap opening. The hand returned, and Kit felt the slippery touch between his buttocks, one finger circling his opening carefully. James hooked his chin over Kit's shoulder, watching his face in the mirror as he spread the silky substance. Kit breathed, the deep slow respirations also aiding relaxation. He threw his head back and James gave a sucking kiss to the side of his neck. 

“Ready?” the husky voice asked.

“Oh, gods, yes!” Kit's arousal was back, as if it had never entirely left, his cock filling and he arched his back, eager to be reminded how good being full felt. James caught Kit's eye in their reflection then leaned in and kissed the base of his spine where it dipped. Kit heard the crackle of a wrapper and the liquid squelch of the lube bottle and then James had him firmly by one hip, a pressure at his opening. Kit stared fixedly at the mirror, sweat soaked fringe sticking to his forehead, watching as James eased in, his movements sure and undeniable, a careful gentle rocking that made Kit's skin shiver. He focused on breathing and watched James in the glass, his blue eyes darkened with arousal and want as deep as what Kit was feeling. It felt like forever before the slow incremental moves had James seated in him. Kit panted shallowly, adjusting and unable to look away. James brought his hands up, tracing erotic patterns into the skin of Kit's back, soothing and patient until Kit took a deeper breath and sighed it out. James made a few slow thrusts, watching the mirror and then glancing down to where their bodies joined. He leaned forward and covered Kit, shoulders to knees. One hard arm circled Kit's waist, the other braced against the floor and Kit found himself lifted up and back. He cried out as the change in position stretched him in new ways, sending lightning up his spine. He ended up sitting in James' lap, strong thighs spreading him wide. Kit had closed his eyes and let his head loll back on James' shoulder. He wasn't allowed to rest long. James ran his tongue over the vulnerable join of shoulder and neck, ending with a definite bite. Kit's eyes shot open and his shocked gaze met ice blue in the mirror. The image would haunt him always, himself splayed out, erection hard against his belly, weeping precome in slow pulses, skin flushed pink and sweat sheened. And his eyes, green swallowed by wide pupils and utterly wild with want. And James behind him connected as much to his soul as to his body, the gaze so intense it had it's own weight. 

James had looped his left arm around Kit's waist and brought the hand up to his right shoulder. The left hand roamed, teasing Kit's nipples first and then stroking down his belly. Kit tried to get his hands to his own cock when James avoided it. The pressure was building and his cock ached, harder than he ever remembered being. James grabbed at his right wrist and dragged it up, settling his mouth against the inside of the elbow and it's soft vulnerable skin and licking it, then sucking at it.

“Dirty, sneaky, Fuck! James, that's cheating!” Kit squirmed, or tried to, but the hold James had on him was unbreakable. James alternated slow rolls of his hips with licks and a nibble to Kit's elbow and occasionally a convenient ear. And Kit cursed and finally just groaned and watched himself coming apart as James smiled into his eyes. There was a brief respite before James began to move again, solid and unerring and powerful. Kit gave a hoarse cry as James wrapped his hand around Kit's cock and began a slow stroke in rhythm with his shallow thrusts. “I can't,” Kit heard himself gasp out. Kit felt completely out of his own control, dragged along to a level of arousal he had been sure he was incapable of. He tried to move again and this time James let him down very gently, propped on his elbows on the rug, hips held up as James finally unleashed a steady rhythm that had Kit seeing nothing but white stars behind his lids as he came again, no less intense than the first time. James gave a soft growl and Kit felt the careful withdrawal. The condom landed on the floor next to them and Kit watched as James stripped his hand down his own prick, setting a fast hard rhythm until he stiffened and splashed Kit's back and arse with come. Kit slid sideways on the rug, feeling the warmth of the fire on his front and James at his back as he settled in, spooned around him. Kit half dozed, warm and wrung out. 

He might have spent the night there but James coaxed him up to the bed and cleaned him up a bit with the wipes and a clean towel. He disposed of the condom before he arranged the blankets over both of them. James checked that his Walther was positioned so he could reach it easily and set his mobile next to it. Nick and Nora ambled up to the bedroom as Kit was falling asleep. He heard James laughingly telling them he had their place now and they might as well get used to it. The cats, true to their nature, ignored this alteration in their routine. Nora curled herself on top of Kit's head and Nick snaked his solid frame into the space behind his knees. Oddly, despite adjusting to a new bedmate and a strange bed and the anxiety over the operational status of the organization he had a huge part in molding to it's present shape, Kit slept deeply.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The mobile rang some six hours later. It vibrated almost out reach before Bond snagged it and hauled it back under the bedding. He was reluctant to disturb his still sleeping bedmate by getting up. The caller ID function was useless as the cracked screen distorted everything. He hit the call answer. “Bond,” he said succinctly.

“Good morning, James. How is everything in the wilds of wherever the heck you are?” Moneypenny sounded disgustingly awake and chipper for the hour and the circumstances. 

“Things were fine until you decided to wake me. To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning inquiry?” Q snuffled a bit from the position he had taken sometime during the night, his face pillowed on James' stomach, completely buried under the duvet. James idly wondered how he managed to breathe like that as he stroked his chaotic mop of hair. 

“There have been some developments,” Eve replied. “I thought you both should know as soon as possible. May I speak to Q?” When James hesitated, Eve gave a filthy chuckle. “You did it!” she crowed. 

James felt himself blush for the first time in recent memory. “Eve, this is not bloody primary school. It's not really your business anyway.” 

“Oh for heaven's sake, I'm the one who played matchmaker. Allow me to gloat just a bit. You know I'll get the details out of Q eventually.” Eve sounded way too pleased with herself. 

A muffled noise from the bedclothes and a slender arm snaked out. “Is that Moneypenny?” The hand made grabby motions at the phone. Resigned to being terminally teased, probably for the remainder of his life, James handed the phone over. “Eve. Please stop poking at James. He bites.” There was a spate of giggles from the phone and Q ignored it. When the laughter died down, he asked, “What developments?” He listened and made small affirmative noises at several points. Finally he concluded with, “Have you sent all that to me encrypted?” Eve apparently had done so. “Thank you. We'll be in touch.”

Ending the call, he handed the phone back and gave a sigh. “I need to get started. There's been a few good breaks.” He emerged flushed and pink cheeked from the warmth of the bed and wrinkled his nose a bit at the comparative cool of the room. He clicked on the bedside lamp and made his way to the bag he had brought and retrieved a change of clothes. Bond settled on his side and watched with appreciation. “Have you got a kink I don't know about?” Q turned and asked, one brow quirked behind the glasses. 

“I'm not sure what you mean, darling Q.” James' face clearly said otherwise.

“You seem to take an inordinate interest in my, uh, my...”

Bond interrupted with that cheerful leer. “Your arse.”

“Exactly,” Q agreed.

James sat up on the edge of the bed. He cocked his head sideways a bit. “Not precisely. Anyway it's not just that. Some people like legs, or chests. I like backs.” He seemed quite comfortable with this revelation.

Q was pulling on his pants and trousers and straightened as he fastened the button and zip. He turned about, trying to see his back in the mirror.

Bond chuckled. “If you twist yourself up like that, it defeats the purpose. The view I get is more natural.” He stood up and walked over. He turned Q around and ran a hand over his nape and trailed his fingers down the length of spine, gliding over each vertebra. “I don't have the words an art critic might have, but there's something about the curves of your back that says beautiful. There's strength and grace combined and that has always attracted me.” He shrugged. “I love sneaking up behind you at work. Even under the dreadful clothes, I could tell.” 

“You've been looking at me?” Q found it somehow astonishing that as much as he had been watching, he had been watched in return.

“Watching, absolutely.” Bond placed a gentle kiss on Q's neck, just at the hairline. “And now I get to do more than look. But right now, we have to save the empire one more time.” He smiled. “After that, maybe we can both take a bit of a break.” The smile turned to something predatory. “Fancy being kidnapped for a dirty weekend?” 

“Sounds like a wonderful plan,” Q agreed before stepping carefully out of reach and heading downstairs. “I'll start coffee for you,” he called over his shoulder.

By the time Bond joined him in the dining room, where he had used the table to set up his work station, Q had fed the cats and gotten coffee brewed as well as tea for himself. He had his mug to his mouth, sipping the over hot beverage as he peered at the screen in front of him. “Well the algorithms worked well enough. We have the communications deciphered and we coordinated raids on three safehouses and netted most of the group. They're in a military holding facility.”

“I know that tone, Q. What's the rest?” Bond leaned against the wall, sipping coffee.

“They didn't get the top ranking members, the core of the group. They're all lying very low. I suspect our mastermind arranged a bolthole for them.” Q tapped a few keys and pulled up another screen. “Good news is he's not in Russia. He's right here. That makes sense. He'd want to be close when his plan begins to work. And he still thinks it is going to work. Odd, I think I know this. The style is so familiar. Hackers, anyone working in my field has signature methods. I've seen this before.” Q picked up the secure phone to his department. “Are you seeing this? He's poking at very specific spots. He's looking for some piece of information.” Q tapped a few more lines. “No, wait. Let him go a bit. I want to see what he's after.”

“You're letting him get through?” Bond asked with a mildly interested tone.

“Only a bit. I need to know what he's after. He seems to know I'm not under wraps at HQ. He's going after finance, real estate holdings. He's looking for our safehouses.”

“You think he's going to give the addresses to his pet anarchists and then watch them hunt you down.” James sat down at the table handing Q a second cup of tea. “We can stake out the locations and take them down. But we need to draw him out as well. Otherwise he'll just try another avenue.”

“Well we know he wants a shot at me.” Q sat back and waited.

“You as the bait, give him this location.” Bond mulled the idea over. “You know I don't like it.”

“Yes but this way we have some control over it. And this place is secure and I have a very dependable bodyguard. We're far enough away from the village to prevent collateral damage. My department keeps narrowing down the area he's working from, backtracking his data flow. I plan on putting this location in a submenu, beneath the rest of the safehouses. He'll have to work to get at it but I intend to include something that will make it much easier to track it to him once he opens the file. Something very new. Nobody in the department has even seen it.”

“So he gets this location, opens it, and you can track him. And we need to get him before his pet killers get here.” James frowned. “You know I hate it. Besides my personal dislike of having you at risk, there is the matter that you are the brains of the entire organization, the highest priority target at MI6. It's a huge gamble.”

“So says the acknowledged best poker player in the department. We need to stop him and this is the best way. Otherwise he'll just disappear and try again later. He's not the type to give up.” 

“How about back up for us?” James asked.

“Nothing through servers. We can't risk him knowing. 006 was on medical leave wasn't he?”

“Alec? He was staying at a friend's place on orders not to come in until he was cleared. He might have ignored the call out.” Bond gestured for the secure mobile and dialed a number from memory. After a bit he began to speak to the person on the other end. “Still on holiday? ...Yes, I know...Thought you might like to come out for a bit of a party...Yes very formal...Oh you'll have a blast...Yes, let me give you directions.” Bond proceeded to give Alec the route to their location, hanging up after. Bond put down the mobile “What made you think of him?” 

“006 is personally loyal to you and would be looking for any excitement at this point. Also, he has a seriously concerning amount of weaponry unaccounted for that I am sure he can access readily and will be gleeful at the prospect of using.” Q smiled. “I do know my agents.” While Bond had been on the phone call, Q had secreted the information about the house in the files and was watching as his adversary made his slow way toward it. As soon as the file was opened, Q gave a triumphant shout. He folllowed the trace and crowed, “Got you!” He typed into a text window and sent the information to R in the department. “They'll be sending a military team to the location. It will take some time. He's in bloody Wales. I can't pronounce the location on a map but the IP is as clear as day. And there he goes sending out messages to his little murder squad.”


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

“Alec is here,” Bond commented, He had been watching the camera feeds from around the house. He gestured at the small stand of trees that concealed the house from the lane that led back to the village. Q examined the screen. Alec Trevelyan, big, blonde and the most cheerful assassin Q had ever met, was setting up a sniper blind in the trees. Bond had sent a series of texts related to the 'house party' and Alec had gotten the message. He somehow managed to become close to invisible as they watched, bending branches and settling into a relaxed position, a frankly ridiculously huge camo duffle bag next to him that looked heavy enough for arming an entire squad. Bond smiled thinly. “That's just about perfect. He'll see anyone coming that way.” He returned to his own preparations, the loaded rifle already on the table. He finished with the first Sig and handed it over. Q hefted it with the expertise of someone comfortable with weapons, checking the load and the safety. He pocketed a few magazines and returned to his computer as James reloaded his own Walther and the second Sig. He had left the grenades at the back door. Q had corralled the cats into the upstairs bath which had no windows.

“We've got company,” Q checked the alert on his phone against the surveillance feed. “Three men coming from the road east of the house.” He scanned the other cameras. “Two more at the rear behind the shed. All armed with rifles and wearing masks.”

“Wait for their move,” Bond advised, taking a position at the kitchen window. “There may be more coming and we want to have them all here.” 

Q waited by the dining room window, crouched out of the direct line of sight. He kept the Sig to hand and had put his laptop on the floor nearby. “Two more coming this way, over the garden hedge. Bugger, they've got a grenade launcher.”

A few more moments scanning the cameras showed no more intruders entering the area. Q hadn't picked up any radio signals so they must be using visuals or other method. He watched one raise his hands with all fingers extended. “James, countdown.”

Bond hit the speed dial on the secure mobile and watched Q count down, relaying the count to Alec. A sharp crack coincided with the clatter of smaller calibres as Alec's sniper rifle took out the apparent leader with a head shot. The grenade hit the house but the hardened surface was astonishingly tough. The window spiderwebbed but held. Two more quick shots took out the other two at the front and Q saw Alec grab a smaller rifle from the duffle and run headlong for the two in the garden. James had opened the kitchen door as the two in the rear came around the shed. He tossed a flash grenade behind them and picked them off as they spun, confused. There was a scuffle in the garden and Alec came grinning around the back of the house, carrying the grenade launcher and throwing an arm around James. 

“You invite me to the best parties. Look at this. Wonderful party favor.” He entered the house and Bond relocked the door. “So what's going on? Emergency lock down I was too far away for, then silence until you called.” He noticed Q sitting with his back to the wall and checking the laptop. “Hullo, Q.”

“Welcome, 006. Thank you for your timely assistance.” Q poked at the keyboard and began to look more concerned. “Bugger!” he pronounced.

Alec looked confusedly back and forth between his friend and his Quartermaster. “What's happening?”

“Q's a target of someone who's been using random anti government groups to create situations to draw MI6 and him out. This was the last group we knew about and we had an SAS unit going after the mastermind.”

“Had is the operative word, Bond. The bastard slipped the noose. He could be anywhere.” Q stared in frustration at the data. “He escaped and until he pokes his head up, I have no way to trace him.”

“And now all he has to do is lie low and try again when he's ready.” Bond turned his phone over in his hand. “I'd prefer not to let him regroup. We need to draw him out and control the playing field.” He looked at Q who had returned his laptop to the table, resting the Sig next to it. “Ideas?”

“”I can think of one thing. Not without risk.” Q steepled his fingers and looked at the two agents. “He's prone to grand schemes. He likely thinks his murder squad was successful. He'd have no reason not to. If I put the department back on a normal footing, easing down the alert as if the problem is resolved, and then communicate with Q division, telling them we're coming back, it may irritate him enough to come out. He'll know his plan didn't succeed and he might be angry enough to make a try himself. We stay here, keep Alec as our ace in the hole and don't mention him to anyone else.” 

Alec grinned happily at the prospect of further mayhem. “Reel him in like a big fish.” He patted the grenade launcher and nodded. “I like it.”

Bond still looked unhappy. “The house is secure enough but he's gotten around security protocols before.” 

“You know it's the only way this might work. We can plan here without anything we say being subject to a hack. He can't get at plans that are just between us.” Q looked at the other two men. “Let's get something to eat and I'll start deescalating at the department. Slow will look more normal.” He trudged up the stairs and let the cats out. Alec and James went outside to remove the bodies to the shed. 

Returning to the house and resetting the alarms, James watched as Alec returned to the chair where he had left his new toy. Alec was completely disconcerted when Nora settled next to him on his chair arm and poked insistently at his hand. He petted her briefly and then withdrew his hand, only to have her hook a diminutive imperious paw around his fingers and draw it right back to her. 

Bond chuckled at the consternation on his friend's face. “You've lost before you start with that one. Nora's a complete diva.”

Q called from the kitchen as Nick circled his ankles. “She's a duchess demanding tribute,” he commented. “Diva implies tempermental. She's just completely sure of her place.”

“Why the cats?” Alec asked, still petting Nora.

“They're Q's, and their presence is non negotiable. Trust me on that one.” James was talking while watching Q serve up dinner for the pair of moggies. Nora jumped down and scurried for the bowl as soon as it touched the floor. “Apparently the cats go where he does.”

Alec shrugged. “I suppose I've dealt with stranger circumstances.”

Q had placed some steaks in the refrigerator earlier. They were thawed enough to season and grill and serve with chips. Dinner was full of odd tales Alec dug up from his missions. James had heard most of them but Q was very amused. Finishing with coffee, Alec voiced what they all were thinking. “How long before we can expect an assault?”

“I'm hoping very soon.” Q checked the screen on the laptop, nodding. “The department is back to elevated threat, down from lock down. Things are appearing to go back to SOP. I know he can read our basic encryption, and he doesn't seem to realize I know that, Now he's aware I am still in the game. But I still haven't seen any evidence of what he's doing. The gamble depends on how angry he is. I may be able to prompt that along.” Q took a few moments, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I sent a summary to M, with cc to R. I made some comments about how inept the planning was and how easy to circumvent it.” 

Alec chuckled. “You're twisting the tiger's tail, Quartermaster. “Goad him enough and he may act inadvisedly.”

“What I have seen of him speaks of ego. Basically, I just called him a moron. Let's hope the ego overrides the intellect.” Q looked up, light from the screen casting odd shadows on his face. “Just don't expect him to rush the door waving a pistol. He's still smart enough not to do that.”

“So, how long?” James leaned forward, his expression the one Q had seen most often when seeking mission data.

“My guess is there are still members of the Militia out there. He may contact them and bring them here. And I somehow think this time he'll want to be here to see it through personally. Acting remotely the first time was a failure and he won't want to repeat the mistake. I'd say within 24 hours he'll make contact and put a plan in play.” Q sat back and stretched. “I have alerts programmed for every Militia account we know about. If any of them are contacted, I'll know.”

Bond stood up and made a slow circuit of the rooms. Returning to the table, he tapped Alec on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, We'll do watch shifts. I'll wake you in four.” Alec eyed the short sofa. 

“There's a guest bedroom,” Q pointed up the stairs as he headed up himself, the cats bounding ahead of him.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The house was silent. Bond made circuits at random intervals, otherwise occupying himself with a book filched from the well stocked shelves. Q's Nan, or Q himself, was a fan of fantasy literature, It was entertaining but not so engrossing that he was unaware of his surroundings. An alert just after midnight was found to be a fox, heading across the corner of the garden, intent on food or mate. He returned to his random inspections and more reading. At just after 0200 he stood in the guest room doorway. Alec instantly opened his eyes, glancing at his watch. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Bond noted, with amusement, that the grenade launcher leaned against the head board. 

As Alec slid his feet back into his boots, Bond moved to the foot of the bed. “You can head off, James. I won't go back to sleep.” He looked up, a smile on his face. “And I know where you've been sleeping so you may as well get along. I'm betting his feet get cold.” He jerked his head in the direction of the master bedroom before standing up. “This room hadn't been used at all. And you act different around each other. I know you. And what I'm seeing is you and our resident genius are very close. I approve. I think he's good for you. Mind you, I think he's getting the worst of the deal.” Alec ducked as Bond made a mock jab at him and chuckled happily as he descended the stairs. 

James stood in the dim hallway, listening. Once downstairs, Alec moved as soundlessly as he did. The master bedroom door was pulled to but not latched. It swung easily at a gentle nudge. The light from the hallway fell across the bed where Kit was an indistinct lump under the blankets, his mop of hair a darker smudge peeking out the top. James slid out of his clothes, moving as quietly as only someone with his training could. Naked, he slid under the covers, easing up to the lover he'd had so little time with but who was becoming more and more important to him. Kit murmured sleepily and turned to James as his warm cocoon was invaded. James wanted him to sleep but when a pliant body rolled over and a warm mouth placed lazy half aware kisses on his neck and chest, James really couldn't say no. 

“Everything okay?” Kit whispered. 

“Alec's on watch, And the alarms are all set.” James eased his fingers into the tangle of hair and rubbed lightly. Kit sighed and James used the opportunity to capture his open mouth, a soft press of lips deepening to a sharing of breath and a twining of tongues. Kit began to wake in earnest, bringing his arms up to drag James over on top of himself, blanketing himself in the bigger body. “What would you like?”

“Just this,” Kit rocked up with a lithe twist of his hips setting his already hard cock against James' which was rapidly catching up in interest. “Just want you,” he punctuated his demands for more with needy kisses and panting breaths in James' ear. James matched the mood and the moves and they slid and rocked as the big brass bed creaked under them. It seemed to last a long time, lost in each other, before Kit gave a soft cry he tried to bury in James' shoulder. The splashes of heat and wet eased James' thrusts and he moved more strongly, shuddering in release a little later. 

James smiled into Kit's sweat damp hair, kissing his temple before struggling out of bed to the bath, returning with a damp flannel, cleaning Kit despite protests that it was too cold. It woke the man enough to sit up and run hands through his hair. “What's the time?”

“Half two,” James replied, sliding back under the covers. “Alec took over the watch at two.”

There was soft groan. “He must have heard. I'm sorry. I didn't think about anyone else finding out...” Kit floundered on describing and just threw his hands up.

James chuckled. “Alex already knew. Said he knew I wasn't using the guest room and that you were too good for me.” He dragged Kit down for a hug and bundled the blankets around them both. “Eve knows. Alec knows. Sooner or later, more people will know. Doesn't bother me unless you're afraid of HR telling you to leave off sexually harassing non-management employees. Should I file a complaint, Quartermaster?” Kit found a hip and pinched. James just laughed and kissed him again. “If you like, we'll put in paperwork when things settle down. You know the department won't care if the paperwork is all done and as for the staff, they'll find something else to gossip about in a week.”

“You'd do that?” Kit's tone was sharp and urgent.

“Planning on it unless you have an objection. Much rather have things understood.” James settled more comfortably into the pillows. “And I have nothing to worry about, Anybody looks at either of us wrong and you can make sure their passwords never work again. Now get some sleep.”


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

When Q made his way downstairs, hair still damp from his shower, he found Alec in the kitchen. He was turning bacon in a pan, and handed Q a plate with eggs and toast. Q looked around and found the cats in the corner, nose deep in their bowls. Alec noted the gaze. “They were a bit insistent so they got theirs first. Couldn't find the cat food but scrambled eggs seem to suit them.” He placed some bacon on Q's plate. “James is out checking the cameras and adding a few improvements.” At that moment Bond reentered the house. He tucked into his own plate as Alec finished at the stove. He ate about half before stopping to sample the coffee. 

“The cameras are all good. I cleaned up the outside of the dining room and concealed some of the damage with a piece of fencing I found behind the shed. Any casual passer by won't see much.” 

Q was dividing his attention between his breakfast and the laptop. “He seems to be taking the bait. There've been several emails coming into Militia accounts. Time and location. Code says five kilometres from here and four hours from now.” He tapped into another window. “Might be as many as a half dozen Militia members still at large. Assuming all of them are willing to follow him, we're dealing with seven to three odds.”

Alec leaned back and made a long arm, tapping James on the shoulder. “Might almost make a challenge then.”

“I'm betting he won't tell them what happened to the previous assault group.” Q tapped his fingers on the table. “They won't know what they're walking into.”

Alec produced a map he had drawn, placing a finger on the detail of the house. “I think a new camera position on the roof might be useful. We have time to move one of them ontp the house proper presuming they don't require wiring.”

“Easy enough”, Q replied. “What about armament? I know what we started with.” He glanced at the duffle Alex had brought in.

“My Armalite, some handguns, two sawed off shotguns for close in and what I took off the corpse brigade outside. Plenty of grenades for this little beauty.” He patted the launcher which he had not let far out of his sight.

Bond turned the map around and then looked up and around the space. “I'll cover the front entry. Alec, can you set up overlooking the shed? Just try not to blow it up.” He pointed at the living room wall covered with bookcases and no windows. “Q, you're over there. We'll pulll the dining table over in front for cover in case they get in.”

Q nodded and picked up the Sig and appropriated one of the shotguns and a box of shells.He moved a few cushions to the floor and set his laptop on them, arranging the armament next to it. James and Alec shifted the table and adjusted the makeshift barricade. 

“What about them?” Alec indicated Nick and Nora. Nora had become quite attached to the big man and was rubbing against his ankle. 

Q rose to his feet. “Same as earlier. Should be close enough now.” He looked at the clock and climbed the stairs, bringing the food bowls and the clicker. Nick and Nora scrambled to follow as the clicks summoned them. He closed the bathroom door and came back down. He jumped a little when James wrapped an arm around him and kissed him briefly. He looked anxiously at Alec who was shifting around weapons for easy access at the back door. Alec gave a cheerful wave. “Don't mind me. Just don't expect me to keep a secret. This is too good not to share.”

James shot him a two fingered salute and kissed Q again. “Moneypenny already knows so I am sure there's already at least three betting pools going.”

“Betting pools!” Q hissed anxiously. 

“Q, darling. We work with spies and geniuses. Boredom is a fact of life and any opportunity to alleviate it will be used. Betting pools are the breath of life at MI6.” James released him and began checking his own weapons. There was a brief few minutes of silence, abruptly broken by a chime from the phones.

“Heads up, we have company at the lane behind the shed.” Q brought up the camera feeds. “Two of them in hoodies and combat boots, both armed with rifles.” He watched as the figures took up positions they must have thought were secure. Alec poked a small mirror over the sill edge of the window he was crouching near. Bond kept scanning the hedges at the front. “Two more,” Q called softly. 

“I see them,” Bond replied. “Coming from my left.”

Before Q could advise them Alec spoke up. “There are three more at the rear, one hanging back and only armed with a handgun that I can see.”

Q felt a sudden certainty. “That will be our man. The others are the muscle.” He watched the cameras closely. The presumed leader was arguing with the others, gesturing at the house with vigorous arm motions. Finally they all began to edge closer. He waited until they were close enough to the back door that they'd never manage to duck back to cover in time. “Go!” he called out, ducking his head behind the table as Alec and James shoved their respective doors open and began to fire. In the ensuing turmoil, Q lost sight of all the combatants. There was the sharp crack of the rifles and the duller blasts from shotguns. As the crackle of firing began to subside, there was a sudden heavy thump and the already spiderwebbed window in the dining area imploded inward. Even with the shelter of the table, the blast knocked Q over. When he came to a stop with his back to the bookshelves, he was confronted with a face he recognized. “Felton.” he managed to choke out before the man opposite him raised the pistol and aimed it with a steady hand and a gleeful grin. Q swung up the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening but it was the pain that flattened him, a sudden burn and an impact like being punched before the real pain kicked in. He put his hand to his side and stared in disbelief at the bright red coating everything. There was a flurry of three more cracks and he heard James' voice dimly before he had to close his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

James could hear Alec dealing with the rear door. He distinguished several different weapons by sound but focused on the enemies in front of him. They had decent armament but no tactical sense. Still, even an amateur could get in a lucky shot and he was no fool to underestimate anyone. Finally assuring himself with head shots to both, he turned to see if Alec needed help. As he did, the damaged dining room window disintegrated and a figure rolled through. He tried to bring a shot to bear but Q was right in line and the heavy rifle he held could go right through the enemy and into the Quartermaster. Q got hold of the shotgun but the other man had his pistol already aimed. The shots were echoes of each other. The intruder went backwards with blood blooming across his chest and neck. James approached him and kicked the gun to the side and then looked up. Q was ashen, bright blood staining his whole right side. “Q...Kit!” Q's eyes closed and he sank back against the bookshelves. Alec stepped up and looked down at the man on the floor and dispassioantely raised a heavy Glock and placed three shots very precisely – two to the chest and one directly between the eyes.

James slapped a hand on the wound in Kit's side, steady flow but containable. Alec was already on the mobile to MI6 as he dragged over the big medical kit. Between them they got an IV in and an occlusive pressure dressing on the wound. By the time the big helicopter was landing outside, Alec had piled up the weapons and collected the cats leaving Bond to manage Q. Bond bullied the medics into letting him on the chopper and tossed Alec the keys to the shed and the car. 

“I'll take care of the rest, James. You take care of him.” He gave a wave and settled to wait for the cleanup team. The morgue boys were going to be very busy.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Bond was standing like some belligerent monument in the corridor outside the surgical suite. Q had been surrounded by medical staff on arrival at the trauma hospital. He had been x-rayed, had bigger IV's inserted, in his neck dammit. Bond hated those. He had been hauled almost immediately to surgery and Bond had stood here for three hours, scarcely moving. Hospital staff had abandoned any effort to speak to him and just moved around him, like a river flowing around a boulder. He registered the sound of the automatic doors behind him and the familiar voice. “James, you are scaring the nice nurses.” Alec came around so he was fully in James' sightline. “I brought a change of clothes and your shaving kit. You have blood all over you. I got you access to the men's locker room. Go clean up.” He pointed to a door down the corridor where a male RN was holding a badged door open. “I'll stay here and call you if anything happens.” Alec handed over the bag he was carrying and nudged Bond with a shoulder.

Shaking himself a little and looking down at himself, Bond had to agree. He was an alarming sight to civilians. He hefted the bag and strode down to the locker room, acknowledging the man holding the door with a nod and setting the bag on a bench inside. He hung his shoulder holster on the edge of the shower divider and stripped down with rapid efficient movements. He scrubbed under his nails and made sure he'd eradicated the dried blood before he stepped out to dry off. He kept the weapon nearby, on the shelf under the mirror while he shaved. He dressed in the dark denim jeans and heavy pullover Alec had packed and placed the blood stained clothing in a plastic bag inside the duffle. He shrugged into the holster and covered it with a light nylon jacket. 

Alec had pulled two chairs into place in the corridor and Bond settled into one. Alec left and returned a few minutes later, handing over a coffee. Bond drank it without paying much attention. They had been there about ten minutes when an exhausted woman in green scrubs exited the operating theatre, loosening a mask and approaching them. Bond was on his feet immediately, 

“He's doing quite well,” the doctor began. “Once he's moved to the ICU, you can see him. I understand you're his next of kin.”

Bond began to question that and stopped when Alec kicked his ankle. He turned and Alec gave a mock innocent shrug. The doctor continued to speak. “Your partner had a liver laceration which bled quite a bit as well as a small hemopneumothorax. We halted the bleeding and placed a chest tube to reexpand the lung. He's received three units of blood as well as platelets. He's on several antibiotics. His vital signs are quite stable and we anticipate removing him from the ventilator in about two hours as he recovers from anesthesia.”

Alec had come up to stand at Bond's shoulder. “Thank you Doctor Evans,” he said after reading the badge clipped to the surgeon's scrub top. “Can you direct us to the ICU?”

“Certainly. Take the lift to the second floor and follow the signs. Just use the phone in the waiting room and ask the nurse when you can come in. Tell them to call me if they have any question.” She turned and headed off back to the surgery suite. Alec grabbed Bond by one elbow and picked up the bag with the other and herded the man to the lift. The space was empty and the waiting room outside the ICU was likewise deserted. 

Alec preempted Bond's move to the phone. “Hello, yes....Mr Sterling is here to see his partner. Would you send out when he can come in? Thank you,” He replaced the receiver and poured some of the complimentary coffee. It was bound to be terrible but it was something to do. He sat down on the edge of one of the plastic chairs. “I took the cats to Moneypenny. She says she can settle them at Q's flat and look after them. MI6 has the usual security protocols in place. They came looking for personal info while you were cleaning up. I just told them the Sterling cover name and said you were partners. Sorry if you wanted to keep it under wraps.”

Bond shook his head slowly. “No, that's fine. They were going to have to know sooner or later. This isn't something I can walk away from.”

“How long have you been in love with him?” Alec asked, as matter of fact as if he were asking when you decided to buy a new car.

Bond turned sharply. “Who says I am? I don't even know what I'm feeling.”

Alec tsked softly. “James, I saw your reaction when Q hit the floor. I thought from the look on your face that you were hit as well. You may not have acknowledged or named it but you are in love.”

Bond sank heavily into the chair opposite Alec's. “I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this.”

“At a guess, I would say tell him. Hell, he's been over the moon for you for fucking ever.” Alec sipped his own coffee, grimacing at the slightly burned taste.

“Does everyone at MI6 know? I mean Moneypenny, now you.” Bond was seriously wondering how dense he had been.

“Not everyone. I watch you as a friend and Q is just a centerpoint so everyone watches him. Not surprised about Moneypenny though. The two of them are scary together.” 

“Eve gave me the shovel talk,” Bond muttered, staring at the uneven floor tile. “She threatened to kill me if I hurt him and told me the minions would back her up.”

Alec barked out a laugh. “I could sell tickets to that one. All the minions stalking you through the corridors. They'd overwhelm by sheer numbers if not subterfuge.”

Bond shook his head. “Not going to happen if I have anything to say about it. But he does seem to have that effect on people, doesn't he?”

They sat in silence after that, interrupted by refills of coffee and a trip to the lavatory. The clock moved silently and too slowly for Bond's temper. He was about to call in to the ICU again when an older nurse in dark blue scrubs came out to the waiting room, her greying hair tucked up in a bun with a jeweled pin through it. “Mr. Sterling?” She nodded when Bond rose to his feet. “I'm Elaine. Christopher is awake if you'd care to come in.” She held the door as James moved with alacrity to follow her in. Alec just waved him on and sat back, turning his attention to the TV mounted in the corner. 

The ICU was an open area with bed spaces divided by glass walls and curtains that could be moved as needed. There were only three occupied beds. Elaine led Bond to the one furthest to the left. She nudged a chair near the bed and stepped away, tugging the curtain into place to provide a small envelope of privacy.

The electronic monitor over the bed displayed vital signs and emitted a low steady beep coinciding with the tracings. There was a ventilator in the far corner, disconnected now. The figure in the bed was still, steady shallow breaths disturbing the bed coverings. One pale hand lay outside the covers, bruised with needle sticks and bearing a plastic bracelet. Several IV pumps stood at the head of the bed, clear tubing passing under the blankets on the far side. Bond touched the hand near him, still as Q's hands never were. Green eyes opened and a small smile graced his face. “Hi.”

“Hello yourself,” Bond responded. On impulse, he lifted the hand he held to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles. The smile widened and then turned to a grimace. 

“Don't suppose you know if I can have something to drink,” Q asked, his voice low and raspy.

“I'll check,” Bond responded, hunting for a brief moment and finding the call signal clipped to the rail. He pressed the button and Elaine put her head around the curtain a moment later. “Elaine, is he allowed to have some water?”

She smiled, a broad pleasant expression. “Not just yet but maybe some ice chips to start. I'll be right back.”

True to her word, she quickly returned with a small cup, a plastic spoon stuck in the cracked ice. She raised the head of the bed slightly and offered a spoonful, watching as Q swallowed it gratefully. Apparently satisfied that he was able to manage, she handed over the cup. “Give him a little at a time. If he does this well, we'll have him on jello and such later today. And push the pain button if you need it.” She repostioned a small plastic controller near Q's left hand, a bright red button in the center and a wire trailing back to one of the IV stands. She disappeared around the curtain again, leaving Bond to hand over the ice in slow spoonfuls.

After a few spoonfuls, Q waved the spoon away. “What the hell happened to me? I remember the window collapsing and Felton coming through at me. Did I shoot him?” His brow wrinkled as he fought the effects of injury and medication to recall.

“You did.” Bond felt a certain sense of pride at the acknowledgement. “Alec and I were finishing off the others. He hit the window that was already damaged with another explosive. You got him with the shotgun but he still managed to get you. Liver and collapsed lung. The surgeon said they patched you up but you lost a lot of blood.”

“What still hurts so bad?” Q grimaced and pressed the button, sighing as the small machine buzzed in response.

Bond leaned over to look at the container bubbling away on the right side of the bed. “Chest tube. Personal experience says those bastards hurt. Makes breathing a bitch.”

Q examined the button in his hand. “This stuff doesn't make the pain go away really. It's more like I just don't give a fuck.” He giggled slightly and then gestured for more ice. 

“What happened after he shot me?” Q continued as the medication relaxed him.

“Alec finished the bugger off,” Bond remarked casually. Put three in him. You called him Felton?” He watched closely as Q frowned.

“Yes, Felton. Before I worked at MI6, I was at a private firm that did a lot of government contracting. The managers wanted to hire him for networking. They had me do backgrounds on the new hires to verify their credentials. He had some fairly negative stuff, did a few things that were barely legal. Essentially he was a risk for any company, bright but no ethical sense. I did a full report and they hired him anyway. He ended up funneling proprietary information to an overseas competitor. I discovered it and he was fired. He knew I was the one who told management and he stalked and harassed me for a bit, minor annoyances really, and it all stopped when I was taken on at MI6. My old records disappeared and I changed addresses. He must have kept looking though.” He was quiet for a few minutes and Bond thought he might have drifted off again. Then his eyes opened, sharp for all the effects of the drugs. “Did you threaten the ambulance driver?”

Bond chuckled ruefully. “You might say that. It was a bit more involved than that. The helicopter pilot didn't want to let me go with you. I was rather insistent.”

“Helicopter?” Q shuddered. “I'm rather glad I wasn't awake for that bit.”

“I wish it hadn't been necessary at all. Kit, I thought, damn you know what I thought. And I realized I made a huge mistake.” James paused, looking at his hand, fingers tangled with Kit's. “I should have recognized what Alec and Moneypenny, heaven help me, have known for a while. I love you and I would have lost parts of myself I can't afford to lose if anything had happened to you. And I'm sorry I was too stupid to tell you sooner. You deserve better but I think you may be stuck with me.”

James watched as Kit's eyes swam with tears that spilled down his cheeks. He managed a watery smile and whispered, “You have hideous timing, James. I can't do a damned thing lying here and you just said something I never expected to hear. You could at least kiss me.” He managed a small pout and James couldn't resist. He leaned in very carefully, holding his weight on the bed rail and brushed his mouth over Kit's, delighting in the warmth and the way Kit tried to follow as he drew back and resumed his seat. He picked Kit's hand up and kissed that as well. 

“You have something to look forward to then.” He glanced at the clock and rose from the chair. “I believe I've outstayed the time I'm supposed to keep you talking.” He reached down and tapped the red button again, watching as Kit's eyes hazed a bit with exhaustion and the narcotic. “I'll come back later. And by the way, the cats are fine. Alec handed them off to Moneypenny.” He stepped out from behind the curtain and walked over to Elaine. “If he needs anything, I'll leave you my mobile number. Call me anytime.”

She noted the number on the inside of the chart she was holding and nodded. “I certainly will. He's likely to be moved to a private room later this morning since he's doing so well. I'll let you know when, if it's before you visit next.”


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Doctor Evans was a very cheerful sadist. Q had been moved to a private room with MI6 guards on the door. She breezed past them eyeing an xray film and squatted to examine the drainage canister for the chest tube. “That's good, very diminished.” She held the xray up to the window and squinted. “Guess you're getting rid of this today.” She proceeded to sit him up, laid out a dressing kit and loosened the tape covering his right side. She donned sterile gloves and made a snip with a scissor and got the new dressing into place. “Take a deep breath.” As he did she gave a steady pull and Q gave a muffled whine. Before he could register the intensity of the pain, there was just a steady pressure and Dr. Evans was sealing the tape around the dressing, the chest tube discarded in a red container. She examined the incision and placed a new smaller dressing there. She stood back and discarded the gloves. “You're coming along nicely. Presuming the repeat xray is fine and you don't develop a fever, you can go home tomorrow. I'll change the IV meds to oral and get you some solid food.” 

She turned to exit and passed Bond on the way in. He was dressed in one of his impeccable suits and carried a canvas tote. “Did I just hear something about food?” He graced the surgeon with a charming smile. He handed over a small paper sack from inside the tote. “Coffee and a croissant, doctor. Oh, and these for the rest of the staff.” He produced a beribboned box from a patisserie. She smiled as she sipped the coffee and gave an absent wave as she headed to her next patient. 

Q was leaning back into the pillows, “She said I can go home tomorrow, I think.” He looked up a little uncertainly. 

“I heard the same thing, love.” James handed over a take out cup of tea and unwrapped a cinnamon roll. The breakfast tray was still on the bedside table and he appropriated the plastic knife and cut the pastry into bite sized pieces. He picked one up and offered it to Kit, smiling. The taste was pure bliss after the hospital food, the bite of cinnamon and the sweetness of the glaze. He chased James' fingers to lick the last of the sugary goodness off. James continued to feed him small bites until only one was left. He placed it between his teeth and leaned forward. Kit got the hint and met him halfway tugging at the morsel and then continuing to kiss the warm mouth. 

James pulled back and Kit reluctantly went back to his tea. “So what's the fall out at work?” he asked.

“You're on medical until cleared and I'm detailed for your personal security. Your department is happily deconstructing everything Felton did so they can prevent it happening again. He was fulfilling a contract for a foreign government to demolish MI6 security. He found out you were the architect and personal vendetta seemed to be a more driving ambition. Notes found on his computer were deranged at times.” He sipped his own coffee. “His paymasters are the business of a new mission, managed by R and assigned to no less than three 00 agents.” He paused to put the trash in the bin. “I told you the cats are taken care of.” James carefully maneuvered himself to sit on the edge of the bed and gathered an unresisting Kit into his arms and kissed him. “And when I take you home tomorrow, I'll have you all to myself.” At the look Kit aimed his way, James smiled. “Any objections?”

“None at all,” Kit replied, settling his head on a broad chest and dozing off to the sound of James' heartbeat in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my longest completed work to date. It feels a little awkward to be releasing it into the archive. The title is from Ovid. Seriously, read the classics people. This is unbetad so any and all mistakes are the product of my own deranged mind.


End file.
